


Throw Away the Key

by captain_of_this_ship



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Fate & Destiny, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophecy, Rating May Change, Reconciliation, Swearing, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_of_this_ship/pseuds/captain_of_this_ship
Summary: Geralt gets news that a group of bounty hunters are looking for Jaskier. Things between them haven't been the same since that regrettable day on the mountain when Geralt ordered the bard out of his life. Geralt can't stand by while hunters track down his...whatever Jaskier is. He sets out with Triss to find the bard before anyone else can get their hands on him.But the more they discover on their journey, the more questions they have about who's after Jaskier and what they really want him from him. With Yennefer's help, they uncover a terrible plot with Jaskier at the center, and time is running out to prevent the worst from taking place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 87
Kudos: 673





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, let me say that I have yet to read the books or play any of the games. 
> 
> The books on their way right now, but I haven't gotten them yet. I'm also thinking about getting the game, but I'm not quite sure yet. I was going to try to wait to write a story after I started reading the books, but this idea struck me like lightning and demanded I write it. Originally, it was only supposed to be 6k, but as you can see....it kind of got away from me. 
> 
> I tired to use the Witcher Wiki for help with some additional details, but besides that and what was show in the Netflix Show, I'm still not fully up to date on locations and magic. Please keep that in mind as you read. This is my first Witcher fic ever. And my first time branching out into a new fandom.
> 
> I'm fragile.
> 
> I've already started another chapter, but I want to see how this goes first before I get too far into it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Come again?" Geralt asked, confident he had misheard Triss the first time. He'd been pleased to see her when she first walked into the tavern, but now, because of the scowl on her face and the worried look poorly hidden in her eyes, he thought about retracting his invitation to share a drink. 

"Someone's after Jaskier," the mage slowly repeated. His stomach clenched at the words as an old ache twisted within his chest. He ground his teeth together, willing the stupid feelings away. They weren't real feelings. Emotions. The aches were just...body functions. Or something. They didn't mean anything. 

"Fuck," Geralt cursed under his breathe. "What did he do now?" 

"I don't know. I haven't been able to find out for sure, but some pretty bad people have been asking about him. They've offered quite a bit of coin for anyone who can provide them a location," Triss explained, pausing to take a drink from her mug. "And from what I have heard, they want him alive." 

"So they can kill him themselves," Geralt growled, glancing out the window of the tavern at the empty streets. Dusk had fallen, prompting the townspeople to flee into their homes for safety as night started to take hold. 

"Do you know where he is?" Triss wondered. 

"I do." 

"Is he close?" 

"Always. Like a stone in my boot," Geralt complained. Triss smiled, clearly not believing him. 

Two days ago, someone had mentioned that his bard had passed through a day ago on his way to the bigger city. That's always how people phrased it. Jaskier was _his_ bard despite the number of times he corrected people. Geralt grabbed his mug of ale and finished it off, thinking about what he was going to do about the annoying bard. It wouldn't take long before the people looking for him got a helpful hint. Jaskier's fame had grown and people were foolish enough to point him out without realizing the danger. Or people would be greedy enough to lead the men straight to the bard themselves. 

"How much are they offering?" Geralt asked. 

"50 for a location. 100 if you can lead them straight to the bard. 200 if you bring the bard to them yourself," Triss answered, taking a sip of her own ale as she glanced around the tavern. Whoever wanted Jaskier clearly had money and a lot of it. That didn't help narrow down the list at all. The stupid bard pissed off nearly everyone he met, Geralt included. He shouldn't be surprised that someone wanted to hunt him down for revenge. 

"What are you going to do?" Triss curiously asked as she took another sip. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know what I mean. You can't let them find Jaskier." 

"Why not?" 

"Don't give me that," Triss snapped, a new edge to her voice. "He's your friend." 

"He's not my friend. He's annoying."

"So are you." 

Geralt gave her a heavy look, but Triss only crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him. Geralt almost missed the days when everyone, including Triss and Jaskier, would steer clear of him. He'd have fewer problems if mages and bards weren't looking for him all the time. Thanks to Jaskier's songs, more people approached him. Usually with a contract, but sometimes to tell him they've heard the songs and enjoyed the tales of his adventures. It still felt strange when it happened. When people didn't automatically react in fear or anger when they saw him. Geralt would never get used to it, but it was a pleasant change. People were less likely to run him out of town now. It was easier for him to get a good drink, a meal, and shelter. He owned all to Jaskier, even if the bard did it for his own gain. 

"When's the last time you saw him?" 

Geralt knew there was a hidden meaning behind Triss's words. Jaskier and Geralt didn't travel together anymore. They crossed paths like before, but the bard no longer followed him like a lost lamb. Not after what happened on the mountain. Maybe if Geralt apologized, Jaskier would join him again, but he hadn't been able to find the words. He thought about it a few times, tried to figure out where to start, yet every time he opened his mouth, he couldn't do it. 

To add salt to the wound, Jaskier never greeted him with any hostility. Instead, he smiled, offered Geralt a drink or a room, depending on the time of day, and chatted with him like old times. He shared stories and played new songs, but he was always gone quickly. He didn't stick around like he used too. He didn't push for details about Geralt's own travels or monster hunts anymore. And when Geralt snapped at him to shut up, he went quiet. That was the worst part. 

It used to be that Geralt could tease and poke at Jaskier to get a reaction. The verbal sparring had been entertaining, even fun at times, but Jaskier no longer returned Geralt's harsh words with any of his own. Instead, he pulled away with a tight smile, nodding his head as if everything Geralt said rang true. Geralt had tried a few gentler jabs, yet still, Jaskier didn't rise to the bait. He thought about asking the bard to come with him a few times, even walked with Jaskier out of town once, but then the bard had made a quick excuse and walked off before Geralt could find the words. 

"Been a month or two," he admitted. Triss hummed, a small frown on her face as she took another drink. 

"When's the last time you saw him?" Geralt threw the question back at her. It didn’t phase her at all. 

Jaskier had been travelling with Geralt the first time Triss met the bard, and unlike Yennefer, Jaskier and Triss got along rather well. Triss didn't mind Jaskier's awkward attempts at flirting, and had even shown him some of her books. She'd been kind to him. Patient. Even when Jaskier asked her a thousand questions about her life and magic. Triss had only laughed and answered as many as she could. Geralt enjoyed watching the two interact. Jaskier had worn one of his best smiles for days afterwards. He’d had written to Triss a number of times when they were still travelling together, though Geralt wasn't sure if Triss ever returned his letters. He never thought to ask. There were a lot of questions he never asked that he should have. Another mark in the book of his mistakes.

"Two weeks ago," Triss said. "In Anchor. He gave a lovely performance."

"And?" 

"He's doing well," she said. "For the most part." 

"For the most part?" 

"It's hard to explain. He just didn't seem like himself. His eyes were dim. Even though he was smiling like always. It was...like an act. As if he didn't want me to see his pain. I asked him about it, but he dodged my questions. He's been like that for almost a year now. I thought, given time, he'd get better. That the light in his eyes would return, but it doesn't seem like time has healed everything. Not yet at least." 

"Hmmm," Geralt replied, understanding what she meant, but refusing to say any more on the topic. "I'll find him and warn him about the trackers." It'd been his intention as soon as she said the bard was in trouble, but he refused to show it, yet Triss didn't look surprised at his words.

"I'll go with you." 

"I can't stop you from travelling the same way." 

"You're so difficult at times," she complained fondly, shaking her head. Geralt fought against a smile threatening to turn up the corner of his mouth. 

"I'll see if I can find out more about who's looking for him before we head out." She finished her own ale and stood up from the table, giving Geralt a single nod before making her way through the tavern. Geralt watched her go, thankful that Jaskier had someone else looking out for him. It eased some of his guilt, but not all of it. Last time he ran into Jaskier, he noticed a new scar on his arm. Jaskier had rolled up his sleeves during a game of cards and there it was, standing out like a flesh pink-colored flag. It looked like a cut from a knife, and Geralt had meant to ask about it, but he never figured out how to bring it up. 

Other times, he'd seen bruises on the bard's neck. One around his eye. Marks with unfamiliar origins. Geralt wondered how much trouble Jaskier got into without Geralt by his side. It worried him. No, no it didn't. Witcher didn't get worried. Jaskier could take a punch, Geralt had seen him do it before. A few lumps and bumps from living wouldn't kill the bard, but these trackers might. Geralt couldn't let that happen. 

He stood from his chair, grabbing his weapons. He glanced around the busy tavern, nodding to the barmaid when she finally looked his way. He threw an extra coin on the table and headed for the door. They could wait until morning when the roads would be safer and free of any possible delays, but Geralt didn’t want to wait that long. He felt an itch beneath his skin, urging him to leave as soon as possible. Pushing him towards the stables where Roach stood eating some oats. She paused when he got closer, giving him a knowing look. Geralt ran his hand over her neck as he filled her in on what was going on. Roach let out a small noise, kicking the straw at her hooves.

"I know," Geralt whispered, pressing his face against the side of her head and taking a slow breath in. "I know. We'll find him." He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him. 

"Evening, witcher," a gruff voice called out. Geralt glanced over his shoulder to see a trio of men. Each had a sword strapped to their hip. The middle one also had a bow hooked over his shoulder and a quill of arrows. At first glance, they looked like normal folk, but he knew better than to believe in appearances alone. Thankfully, for them, they smelled human. Geralt still kept his guard up. His hand itched for one of his swords on his back, but he decided to wait and see how this played out first. 

"What do you want?" he grumbled, grabbing Roach's saddle and carefully placing it on her back. 

"We're looking for a friend of yours," one of the men explained. "A bard with brown hair. About this tall." For once, Destiny, the cruel bitch, was on his side. For once. 

"So I've heard," Geralt replied as he finished strapping the saddle. He glanced over at the trio, taking a moment to study them closer. Their swords were too well made for them to be random farmers, and their cloaks were thick and expensive. The middle one with the bow wore new boots that had yet to touch mud. He didn't see any crests or obvious signs of allegiance. No clues about their employer, but he doubted they were looking for Jaskier themselves. They didn't stand out as assassins to him. Probably bounty hunters. Usually hired to find people who've skipped out on their debts, or escaped prisoners. He wondered which one Jaskier was. Most likely the former. Jaskier never had a good sense when it came to his coin purse.

"I don't know where he is." 

"You don't?" the one with the bow asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. Geralt noticed the other two looking at the man for guidance, their hands inching towards their swords. At least now he knew who was in charge. Geralt turned back to Roach, adding his saddlebags to her back. 

"The bard's not my problem anymore. I got rid of him months ago," he said over his shoulder. "Why are you looking for him? He skip out on paying for something?" 

"No, no. We're not looking for money. We have a client who wants the bard to compose a song for their wedding," the bowman explained. Geralt tried not to laugh. That was the best excuse they could come up with? What a load of bullshit. As if anyone would want Jaskier to compose them a song, especially for a wedding. There were countless bards throughout the continent. What made Jaskier so special? Geralt almost felt insulted that the men gave him such a terrible lie. Did they really think he was that dumb?

"Who's the client?" 

"Can't say." 

"And I can't help you," Geralt growled. "I haven't seen the bard in months, and if I never see him again, it'll be too soon." 

"I find that hard to believe," one of the other men protested, stepping forward from the left. The bowman glared at him, clearly not happy that one of his underlings was making his own move. Good. Let them fight with each other for power. It'll make them sloppy. "Everyone in town still talking about the songs he sang here a few days ago. And nearly all of them are about you, witcher. I think you–"

"Geralt," Triss called, cutting the man off as she entered the stables. She paused when she caught sight of the men. The bowman didn't look concerned, but the others rested their hands on their swords. Geralt held his hand out towards her, giving her a meaningful look. Without hesitation, Triss moved passed the men and took Geralt's hand, pressing herself against his chest like a damsel as he wrapped his arm around her protectively. 

"Can we go now?" she whispered, ensuring her request was still loud enough for the men to hear. 

"Soon," Geralt answered. "This man was just telling me what he thinks." He stared the man down, daring him to continue his sentence, but his confidence had fled. He stepped back, looking at the bowman for help. The leader scanned Triss up and down, then shook his head. Judging by the men's reactions, they didn't recognize Triss as a mage. Not the best bounty hunters, that's for sure. Inside, Geralt relaxed, but he didn't let anything show on his face as he kept a tight grip on Triss' waist and continued to stare at them. 

"If you see the bard, let him know that there's a big offer coming his way," the bowman suggested. 

"I will," Geralt promised, nodding his head. Without another word, the bowman turned and left the stables. The other two stared at Geralt and Triss for a moment before quickly following after him. Geralt relaxed his arm, allowing Triss to step away. She peeked out the stables door then turned to give him a displeased look. 

"They're the ones looking for Jaskier," Triss stated, though he thought he'd made that quite obvious with the look he gave her. He forgets sometimes that people can't read him as well as Yen, or Jaskier. 

"Hmmm," Geralt confirmed, turning back to finish preparing Roach. Triss grabbed a saddle as she headed over to a different horse, one with black hair and some white spots on its head. It eyed him nervously. 

"Did they say why?" 

"For a client. Who apparently wants Jaskier to write a song. For a wedding." 

"Bullshit." 

"Clearly." 

"There's more of them," Triss noted. "I saw others dressed just like them leaving another building. At least four more. Maybe five."

"A lot of people to send after one person. And a bard no less," Geralt muttered. What did they want with Jaskier? Why waste all this time and money for one human? Something didn't make sense here, and it made Geralt uneasy. He wasn't a fan of mysteries. 

"They look like they know what they're doing too," she warned. He doubted that, but maybe he was wrong. It was highly unlikely, yet possible that those three fools were better at their job than they appeared. 

"Did Jaskier tell you where he was going when you saw him last?" Geralt asked. They needed to leave soon, but which direction should they take?

"He was heading toward Dorian, but the innkeeper said he planned to stop in Năvolad first."

"That's what I was told too. We head South then," Geralt announced, grabbing Roach's reins and guiding her out of the stables. Năvolad wasn't too far. Two days at the most. Geralt and Roach could easily get there in less time, but he had to consider how quickly Triss could travel. They'd also need to avoid any distractions, monsters looking for a late night meal. He didn't want to waste any time. The sooner they found Jaskier, the sooner they could figure out what was going on. 

Geralt waited nearby until Triss came out with her own horse. She'd wrapped a riding cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up over her hair as Geralt climbed onto Roach's back. He watched Triss do the same while running his fingers through Roach's mane. What was he going to say to Jaskier? Normally, their encounters were random, giving Geralt no time to prepare what he wanted to say ahead of time. It wasn't until after Jaskier was gone that the words appeared in his mind, but by then it was already too late. This time, he knew they would cross paths soon. He could get his words in order, figure out how to explain. Mend the tear his careless words had created. 

"Why not wait until dawn?" Triss asked, guiding her horse next to Roach. "Rest for the night first." 

"We can’t run the risk of the hunters leaving and finding him before us," Geralt said, pulling out his gloves and sliding them onto his hands one by one as he pretended not to notice the smile on the mage's face. 

"We'll find him," she promised. 

"I know," Geralt stated, grabbing the reins and steering Roach towards the southern end of the town. Triss followed closely behind. Once they cleared the town walls, he gently nudged Roach to go faster until she broke out into a well-paced trot. A light fog had covered the empty road, helping creatures of the night hide easier, but they couldn't avoid Geralt's watchful eyes. He steered clear of anything looking for a fight, guiding Triss around any possible danger and saving precious time. He pushed Roach harder when the sun started to come up. When dawn finally broke, they took a short rest to water the horses and eat from their packs. 

Travelling with Triss was nothing like travelling with Jaskier. She was much quieter than the bard. She spoke up now and again in warning, or to ask a question, but she didn't constantly talk or sing or hum or make noise the way Jaskier did. She rode better than Jaskier ever could. Geralt didn't have to worry about her horse throwing her off or running into a tree because Jaskier was trying to play his lute at the same time. Triss didn't complain when Geralt pushed to move on. She didn't complain at all while Jaskier usually kicked up a storm if Geralt didn't stop to take a break every couple of hours. Finally, Triss was helpful. Very helpful. She understood the danger that lurked in the woods. She knew how to read tracks, how to start a fire and find running water. Jaskier couldn't do anything like that. 

So why the fuck did Geralt miss Jaskier even more? Why did his chest feel so hollow when he glanced back and saw Triss instead of the colorfully dressed bard? Life was better without Jaskier. He had fewer run-ins with random monsters because Jaskier wandered away again when he was hunting for dinner. He didn't have to save Jaskier repeatedly from men who thought Jaskier slept with their wives. Or daughters. Or mothers. Didn't have to drag Jaskier up the stairs when he had gotten too drunk after performing. Didn't have to share a bed when there was only one room left. He had fewer issues, which meant he had fewer adventures. Fewer laughs. Fewer moments when he glanced over and smiled to himself when Jaskier was busy playing his lute. Fewer sunsets where Jaskier would wax poetry about the colors. Geralt felt strange. Even more than before. Like a piece of himself was missing. Apparently, Jaskier had made him soft. Better that he was gone. Geralt could not afford to get sloppy and lose his head. Not now. 

"We're making good progress," Triss commented when they paused in the evening to rest. "We should arrive in Năvolad just after the morning sun if we're up early enough." 

"I'll build a fire," Geralt stated, searching around for wood and building it into a pile. Triss pulled her saddlebags off her horse, then removed the saddle. She moved to do the same to Roach, but the horse turned away, giving her a hard stare that spelled trouble. Triss nodded in understanding, retreating to her bags and pulling out supplies to mix a potion. 

"Do you have a plan?" she asked as she unrolled a blanket over the ground and took a seat. She sprinkled something into a mortar, then used added some water from her skin. 

"Why do I need a plan? It's Jaskier." 

"What are you going to tell him?" Triss pressed. 

"That someone's after him and he should watch out," Geralt shrugged. 

"That's it? You haven't seen him in two months and that's all you're going to say?" 

"What else is there to say?" 

"Have you even apologized for what happened?" Triss demanded, her words harsher than before. Geralt sighed, glancing up into the woods and cursing Jaskier's big mouth. 

"He told you." 

"Only after I begged him to."

Geralt sighed again, using the Igini sign to light the fire before getting up and grabbing his saddlebags off Roach. He removed her saddle, rubbing along her back as he thought about what to say. He didn't have to say anything. He didn't have to explain himself to Triss, but part of him wanted to. Seek advice, see if Triss could provide him the words he needed. 

"I said..." he started, but trailed off as he carried his bags and saddle closer to the fire. "I said things." 

"Things?" Triss echoed. 

"Things I didn't mean. I was angry. And tired. And he became my target. I wanted space. I wanted to be left alone, but...."

"But?" 

"Now I regret it." 

"You should tell him that," Triss said. 

"Tell him what?" 

"That you didn't mean it. That you were just angry and tired. That you regret it. Tell him all that stuff, and fix this. I can't stand watching the two of you anymore. Jaskier misses you and you miss him. It's painful to watch." 

"I don't miss him." 

"You think you're a good liar, but you're really shit at it when it comes to him," Triss replied, shaking her head. "It's so easy to see how much you care about him." 

"I don't care." 

"We could do this all night, but I know I'm right. And you know I'm right, so just give up. Allow yourself to feel. You care about Yennefer, don't you? Why is it such a terrible thing for you to care about Jaskier too?" 

Geralt climbed to his feet, grabbed one of his swords, and stalked off into the forest without a word. 

"You're only mad because you _know_ I'm right!" Triss yelled after him. 

"Fucking mages," Geralt growled under his breath as he ducked low, looking for animal tracks. She made it sound so easy, but it wasn't. Every single time he got within ten feet of Jaskier his mouth forgot how to work. The words clogged his throat, choking him. His tongue tied itself in a knot and refused to budge. He was helpless. He hated it. He missed it. He wished he never met Jaskier in the first place. He wanted Jaskier to come back and never leave again.

"Fuck," he cursed again, burying his head in his hand. Why was this so fucking complicated? Life was never this complicated before! He heard a twig snap, then caught the scent of a rabbit. Perfect. Something to take his mind off Jaskier and Triss' words. He returned to the campsite with two rabbits. Triss took one from him and skinned it herself, something else that Jaskier never did. Together, they cooked them over the fire in silence. 

"He's good for you," Triss said after they finished picking the meat off the bones. "He reminds you to enjoy the little things in life." 

"If you say so," Geralt replied, no longer willing to argue as he rolled out his bedroll. He moved his swords closer just in case as he lay on his back, looking up at the clear night sky. Jaskier used to talk about the stars, claiming he knew the name of each and every one. Complete bullshit, but it'd been fun to listen to him makeup names when Geralt tested him. 

"Just don't be too harsh with him," Triss warned. 

"I won't be." 

"You say that, but I know you well enough to know you’ll open your mouth without thinking. We don't know why these people are after Jaskier, and whatever the reason is it shouldn't matter. We need to make sure he's safe. Even if it is his fault." 

"Which it probably is." 

"Geralt." 

He sighed, turning on his side to put his back to Triss. 

"I won't be too harsh," he promised. 

"Good. I'll keep first watch." 

She said that as if Geralt planned to close his eyes. Instead, he stared out into the dark forest and wondered what Jaskier was doing. He thought about what he told Triss, and the advice she offered. It wasn't terrible advice. Maybe he should try explaining it to Jaskier the same way. He knew he didn't mean the words, and he wanted Jaskier to understand that too. He’d wanted space at the time, but he never meant to push the bard so far away. He listened as the small creatures scurried around the under a bush, keeping his ears open for anything bigger than a deer as his mind envisioned how Jaskier would react to an apology. 

Geralt sat up after four hours, telling Triss to get some rest as he stroked the fire. He watched the mage sleep, wondering how things could have been different for all of them had they made different choices. Or if they hadn't been forced to make choices at all. When the moon started to fade away and the darkness ran away with the early morning light, he tapped Triss awake. Luck was on their side as the night was uneventful. They cleaned up their camp, saddled up their horses, and rode off. 

Just as Triss had predicted, they arrived into town during the early morning moments after the sun had breached the horizon. They road deeper into town, looking for a stable or someplace to leave their horses. Geralt finally found a stable with a young boy standing outside. Triss jumped off her horse and did the talking. She asked if there was space for two horses and negotiated the price while Geralt scanned the mostly empty town. Only a few people were stirring at this hour. A man, who looked like a blacksmith, walked down a side road. A woman threw out a pail of water out her front door. 

"This way," Triss told Geralt, guiding him into the stables to the stalls she'd gotten for them after finishing up her business with the boy. Geralt slide off Roach and led her into one of the stalls, quickly taking off the saddle and his bags. He kept his swords strapped to his back just in case, but he was willing to leave the rest of his bags with his saddle for now. Hopefully, they’d find Jaskier quickly.

"I'll get you oats in a moment," he promised, rubbing Roach’s neck and back. 

"The boy will feed them," Triss said. Geralt glanced at her, giving her a grateful nod.

"We'll start at the tavern," he stated, patting Roach a few times. 

"It's barely morning," Triss protested. "I doubt he'll even be awake yet." 

"A barmaid would be able to tell us if there's a bard in town. Or a sleeping drunk. Whichever one we find. Save us time instead of searching the inns." 

"True."

When they exited the stables, Geralt reached into his coin purse on his belt and pulled out an extra coin. He placed it in the young stable boy's hand. The child stared at Geralt and Triss in awe, clutching the additional coin close to his chest. Geralt rolled his eyes at the boy's reaction. A smile tugged at his face, but he forced it down. 

"Where's the tavern?" Geralt grumbled. The boy pointed to a building at the end of the road. 

"Thanks." 

Triss nodded to the boy as they headed through the small town. Geralt stepped back and let Triss enter the building first, checking over his shoulder to ensure no one followed them. An old habit that Geralt refused to let die. Inside, a barmaid sat on the bar cleaning mugs while an older man swept the floor. She didn't look old enough to be working in a tavern, but Geralt had no place to judge. The girl yawned, covering her mouth with her towel. She didn't notice them until she lowered it. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping down onto her feet. She wasn't much taller than the bar. 

"The White Wolf!" she declared, her eyes going wide with glee. The older man paused his work, turning towards them. "You're just like he described!" 

"The man's songs were true!" the man added in surprise. 

"Well, that answers the first question," Geralt told Triss. Clearly, Jaskier had been here, and apparently, the people had enjoyed his songs. The mage smiled at his words, walking over to the young girl. 

"I'm guessing there was a bard here last night singing songs about my friend? Brown hair? Blue eyes?" 

The maid nodded, still staring at Geralt. She had the same look as the boy. Awe. Hope. Fascination. It made Geralt uncomfortable to be looked at for so long without any hostility. 

"Do you know where the bard went? Did he stay in town?" 

"He's sleeping upstairs," the girl replied, gesturing to the stairs on the left. "Mum let him stay here after he played all night." 

"Do you mind if we go wake him up?" Triss asked. The girl shook her head. 

"Go ahead. It's not really a bedroom, but he said that was alright. I gave him extra blankets." 

"Thank you." 

Triss headed for the stairs. Geralt crossed the room to follow her, nodding to the young girl as he passed. The barmaid squealed, nearly jumping up and down before rushing over to the old man. 

"A real Witcher, Grandpa! Mum's never going to believe this!" 

What kind of songs did Jaskier sing about last night? He'd never had people react like that to him. He hoped it didn't become a new thing. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. He climbed the stairs behind Triss, and as the girl claimed, the upstairs was more of an attic than a bedroom. One wall was filled with barrels and boxes piled as high as they could go with straw packed around them. At the other end was another bigger pile of straw with an even larger pile of blankets spread out. A head poked out from under one blanket. Geralt recognized that mess of brown hair anywhere. Plus he could pick out that scent in a crowd of a thousand people. Perfectly unique to Jaskier the same way lilac and gooseberries went with Yennefer or morning dew after an early rain for Triss. Jaskier always smelt sweet and warm. Like fresh sweet bread. Sometimes with a dash of cinnamon or rose. Probably because Jaskier always bought a pastry with the extra money he had, or picked flowers as they walked. 

Geralt walked over towards the pile, looking down at Jaskier as he slept. He had the blanket pulled up to his chin, his nose buried in it with one of his hands tucked underneath his head. Geralt lowered his head as a smile graced his face, hoping Triss didn't see it. The bard always looked so peaceful and...and beautiful when he was asleep. Geralt cleared his throat softly, watching to ensure he hadn't woken Jaskier up, then turned back towards Triss with a blank face. 

"We'll let him sleep," Geralt said, noticing the bard's lute sitting off the side next to his bags. "We'll talk to him when he comes down for breakfast." 

"Good idea. He can be rather cranky in the morning," Triss remembered. 

"That's one way of putting it." 

He'd met a number of monsters throughout his long life, but Jaskier in the early morning was one of the worst things he ever had to deal with. His neverending whining and complaining and begging to go back to sleep felt like the worst torture. And he was always rather handsy. Touching Geralt's shoulders and arms. Triss and Geralt returned back downstairs. Thankfully, the excited girl was gone, leaving the older man alone. 

"Do you serve food in the morning?" Triss wondered. 

"We do. Our morning group should be arriving shortly, but I can get you something now," the older man replied. 

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." 

The man nodded, glancing towards Geralt before walking over to the bar. He pulled out some mugs, filling them with ale while Triss and Geralt found a table. Geralt made sure to pick one where he could see the stairs as he removed his swords from his back and placed them on a chair next to him, leaving them well within arms reach. The man brought the mugs over, offering them a tight smile. The man may have been shocked to see Geralt before, but he now wasn't thrilled that they were still here, unlike his granddaughter. At least he didn’t try to force them out. Geralt watched as he disappeared through a door into the kitchen. 

Geralt heard him whispering to someone, but he ignored the words. He didn't care what an old man said about him. Less than four minutes later, more people came through the door. A group of miners first, who glared at Geralt in disgust before eyeing Triss. They nudged each other, pointing towards her and whispering. Geralt stared them down until they looked away from his travelling companion. An older woman with two children, maybe grandchildren came in next. The children pulled at the woman’s dress, pointing to Geralt in excitement, but she ushered them to a table far, far away. The older man returned and set a plate in front of Triss and Geralt, greeting people on his way back to the bar. Geralt felt eyes on him but decided to focus on his food instead. He heard the whispers. He knew what they were talking about. He didn't need to see their stares. Didn't want to know if they were judging him or not. 

Triss picked at the food. Geralt took a few bits and pieces as he watched the stairs. Triss talked about a new potion she was working on, through Geralt only heard half of what she was saying. He wasn't really paying much attention. His stomach felt like a brick, heavy and unpleasant. How long would it take for Jaskier to come down? Would he be happy to see them? Annoyed? Was he going to put on the same act as before, or had time healed more of the tension? How were they going to explain the bounty hunters? Now Geralt was regretting not coming up with a full plan. They were going to need to explain what was going on, but he knew Jaskier would have questions that Geralt didn't have the answers to. Would the news of the hunters frighten Jaskier? Would he want to run? Or worse, want to face them head-on? 

Finally, as mid-morning rolled around, Jaskier came fumbling down the stairs dressed in a new red outfit. The color reminded Geralt of the day on the mountain. Jaskier had been wearing red that day too. He remembered it very clearly. He'd enjoyed that color on Jaskier. It went surprisingly well with his bright blue eyes. Geralt shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He didn't give a shit what color Jaskier wore. It didn't matter. They were just clothes. Clothes that hugged Jaskier's legs and arms. Fuck! 

The old man stepped in Jaskier's way and spoke to him in a low voice before pointing towards their table. Jaskier's eyes followed the man's finger, then widened in shock. A bright smile, which didn't reach his eyes, appeared on his face. He quickly made his way over. When he got closer, Geralt noticed the dark circles under Jaskier's eyes. His coat didn't fit as well as before, hanging off his shoulders more than it should. As Triss had told him, Jaskier's eyes were dimmer than before. They were still the same bright blue that pierced Geralt's mind and soul, but the spark that kept them enchanting had gone out. Geralt scanned the rest of Jaskier's body, looking for any new bruises or cuts. Thankfully, the bard appeared unharmed.

"Triss! Geralt! What are the odds? How nice to see you both? Trissy, you look radiant as always," Jaskier praised as he sank into the chair next to her at the table. "And Geralt. Always a pleasure to see you. Brooding and terrifying as always." 

"Jaskier," Geralt replied, nodding his head. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. 

"We heard you gave quite a performance," Triss praised, a bright smile on her face as she turned towards the bard. Jaskier puffed up like a proud peacock. 

"I did! You should have seen it. I had them eating out of the palm of my hands. I've lost track of how many coins I got. Breakfast is on me." 

"You don't have to do that," Triss protested. 

"I insist." 

They argued back and forth for a while, but Jaskier won in the end when the old man returned and Jaskier gave him coins before Triss could even reach for her coin purse. 

"Thank you, Jaskier," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Something dark and green wrapped around Geralt's heart and throat. He glared at the mage, mentally ordering her to move away from the bard. 

"It's my pleasure," Jaskier assured her. He glanced at Geralt. The only thing he could do was hum his thanks, his tongue refusing to work still. Jaskier gave him a small, sad smile and nodded his head in understanding. 

"What brings you to Năvolad?" he wondered, stealing a piece of fruit off their plate and tossing it into his mouth. "Are you just passing through or are you on a monster hunt? I didn't hear of any contracts. Yet, but something might turn up if you wait a few days."

"We were looking for you," Triss confessed. Jaskier's smile turned into a flirty smirk. He leaned towards her, bumping his shoulder against hers. She fought back a grin but failed to hide it as Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Looking for me? Well, then how can I be of service, oh great Triss?" 

"There are other people looking for you. Bad people." 

"Bad people? Who?" 

"We don't know."

"What did you do?" Geralt demanded, unable to help himself. Jaskier glanced at him, a flash of hurt appearing in his eyes before it vanished. His smile retreated as well, chased away by Geralt's harsh tone. Triss glared at him, a disappointed frown on her face. Geralt stared back at her, refusing to back down now that the words were out of his mouth. He kicked himself on the inside. He didn't mean for the question to come out so aggressively, but he needed answers, needed to figure out how to get the people to leave Jaskier alone. 

"I didn't do anything! I swear!" Jaskier claimed. 

"I believe you," Triss said. 

"He doesn't!" he replied, pointing a finger at Geralt. "He never believes me." Geralt scowled at the accusing finger, but Jaskier was right. He didn't believe him. Not completely. But it wasn’t true that he never believed Jaskier. He believed him a few times. Not a lot, but a few. 

"We don't know why they're looking for you," Triss explained. "We were hoping maybe you knew."

"I don't," Jaskier replied. "I've been keeping my head down for the most part. Just performing and travelling." 

Geralt snorted in disbelief. Jaskier gave him an offended look, his eyes narrowing as he opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to die on his tongue as he closed his mouth and settled back in his chair. There it was. The change. Instead of a snappy comeback, instead of fighting, Jaskier just went quiet, giving in and shrinking. Geralt kicked himself harder. He needed to talk to Jaskier, needed to explain. 

"I have no idea who'd be looking for me. I haven't pissed off anyone in weeks. Months. Except maybe a drunk who didn't like my singing." 

"They claimed they had a client who wants you to compose a song for a wedding," Geralt said. 

"That's the best bullshit I've heard all year!" Jaskier exclaimed, throwing his head back to laugh. The sound felt like daggers digging into Geralt's stomach. "Who would want me to do that? That's really the shit they tried to feed you?" 

That was not the reaction Geralt expected. The fact that not even Jaskier believed the lie squeezed Geralt's chest. 

"Are you still heading towards Dorian?" Triss wondered, taking back control of the conversation as she eyed Geralt. She tilted her head ever so slightly at Geralt, clearly trying to convey a message, but Geralt didn't understand her meaning. 

"That was the plan. Do you think I should go somewhere else?" 

"No. I think travelling to Dorian is a good idea. But I do think–" 

"We'll travel with you," Geralt decided, cutting Triss off. The mage gave him a confused look, but his mind was made up. Within time, Jaskier would admit who he'd pissed off, and then they'd be able to solve this issue. Plus, travelling together gave them the added benefit of keeping Jaskier safe if the bounty hunters happened to catch up. Geralt didn't think they would, but one could never be too sure. 

"You will?" Jaskier asked, not sounding convinced at all. 

"We will." 

"Why?"

"So you don't die. Or get taken." 

Jaskier stared at him silently for a while, too still and quiet for Geralt's liking. Geralt tried not to shrink under the attention. He wasn't sure what Jaskier was looking for by staring at him for so long, but it didn't seem like he found it. 

"Almost like old times," he said, his voice so soft and gentle Geralt almost missed the comment over the noise of the tavern. 

"Almost?" 

"Instead of me following you, you're following me." 

Geralt hummed, almost laughing at the idea. 

"I guess that's a way you could look at it," he admitted fondly. Jaskier smiled, still staring at him. Geralt noticed a spark of light in his eyes. Just like before. He waited and watched, hoping the light would grow and return Jaskier's eyes to the way they used to be, but soon enough the spark faded into nothing. Jaskier glanced away, his cheeks tinting red as he turned his attention to Triss. 

"You're coming too?" he asked Triss. 

"Of course. I want to keep you safe," she answered without any hesitation. Jaskier's smile returned. He grabbed another piece of fruit from their plate just as the old man walked over with a new plate that included some meat and fresh bread. He set it in front of Jaskier, but the bard pushed it towards Geralt instead. 

"I'll eat the fruit instead," he offered. 

"You should eat some of the meat too," Geralt suggested, pushing the plate back towards him. "You could use some more meat on your bones before the dogs decide to start gnawing at you." 

Jaskier didn't argue with that and took a small piece of meat from the plate. He asked Triss if she'd been working on anything, prompting the mage to restart her early talk about her newest potion. This time, Geralt listened better when he wasn't staring at Jaskier. It wasn't just the man's eyes that drew Geralt's attention. Jaskier's mouth, his pink lips, grabbed Geralt's eyes again and again. The way the bard pouted and bit at them throughout Triss' explanation drove Geralt mad. Then there were Jaskier's hands. Geralt lost count of the number of times he stared at the bard's hands. 

From the back, they didn't look like they worked a day in their lives. Jaskier's fingernails were always clean and cut perfectly, but Geralt knew that Jaskier's hands were covered with calluses from the string of his lute. He had a habit of carrying a quill or a stick in one hand, twirling it as he walked. He always tapped on the table or on his knee or on Geralt's shoulder, keeping a beat that only he knew. 

Geralt still remembered, still thought about those hands on a more private area of his body. Jaskier used to bring it up time and time again to tease him, but he hadn't in months now. The touch of his hands haunted Geralt late at night when he's bodily desires grew too strong. He would never admit it to anyone, besides Roach, that he'd thought about the bard when he took himself in his hand. He didn't only think of Jaskier. He thought about others as well. Other women and men, but Jaskier was often the star of his fantasies when he couldn't find someone to bed or was sleeping out in the wilderness. 

"You should go grab your things," Triss suggested. "I'm sure Geralt wants to get a head start." 

"Of course he does. Can't waste daylight," Jaskier agreed, getting up from the table. Geralt missed when the topic had shifted to their journey, but neither Triss nor Jaskier seemed to notice. Yet as Jaskier stood up, he gave Geralt a deep, knowing look. Geralt looked away, his lip curling up in a scowl. He didn't watch as Jaskier walked back to the stairs. Not until he was sure the man wouldn't see him sneaking a look at his ass in his breeches. Why were they always so tight? At least that part of Jaskier hadn’t changed. Unfortunately, Triss noticed and gave him her own knowing smirk. He glared at her, adding a growl for good measure. She rolled her eyes and took a sip from her mug. 

"Remember about not being harsh," she chastised. 

"I know." 

"Don't hurt him any more than you already have," she warned. "Or I'll curse you." 

"Curse me?" 

"Are you an echo? You heard what I said," Triss snapped before her tone turned softer. "We need more people like Jaskier in the world. People who are good and kind and soft. People who believed in the good of humanity even when it fucking sucks. If you're not careful, if we're not careful, then Jaskier will end up like everyone else. Hardened by the world. The light will go out. Forever. Without the chance of anyone lighting it again. We need to protect those lights, or we'll all be left in darkness."

"Great metaphor." 

"Thank you. I'm rather proud of it myself." 

Geralt smiled, chuckling slightly. 

"You're right. I didn't...I shouldn't have snapped like I did. I just can't figure out what to say when he's around. My mouth fails me. My brain stops working." 

"He enchants you," she giggled. 

"Shut up."

"It's alright. I won't tell him. I promise. I think it's rather obvious, but Jaskier’s self confidence has never been the best. Maybe you need to stop trying to find the words and do something different. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words," Triss advised. 

Geralt nodded his head. She had a point there. Maybe that would help mend the tear between Jaskier and himself. He could easily think of a number of things he could do for the bard instead of trying to speak. Triss wrapped up the remaining fruit while Geralt claimed the bread for later. 

"I'm pretty sure I have everything," Jaskier announced as he arrived back at their table with his lute over his shoulder and his bag on the other. Triss grabbed her own bag and got to her feet while Geralt returned his swords to his back. He held out a hand towards Jaskier, nodding to the bag on his shoulder. 

"Give it here," he ordered. Jaskier paused, giving him a confused look. "Give it." 

"Why?" Jaskier asked, sounding as if he didn't trust Geralt. Fed up with waiting, Geralt reached out and easily stole the bag from Jaskier's shoulder. He hooked it around his own arm then headed for the door. 

"Geralt, wait! What are you doing to do with that!?" Jaskier demanded, rushing after him. 

"I'm carrying it," Geralt explained. Triss trailed behind them, shaking her head as they walked back towards the stables. The boy was gone now, but when they entered the stalls, Geralt noticed an empty oat bag near Roach’s stall. Roach's coat was also looking shinier than before. Not bad. The boy did well. He kept Jaskier's bag on his shoulder as he placed his saddle back on Roach's back. He secured Jaskier's bag before his own, noticing how the bard stared with his mouth hanging open. 

"What?" 

"Nothing."

Geralt shrugged and finished packing Roach up. He grabbed her reins and guided her out of the stall. She turned her head, nudging it against Jaskier. 

"Hello to you too, my lady," Jaskier greeted her softly. He reached out to touch her, but his hand stopped and fell at the last second. He glanced at Geralt nervously, then stepped back. Geralt wanted to tell him he could touch Roach. He wouldn't snap at him the same way he had before, but that would involve words and Geralt didn't have them. He led Roach out of the stables with Jaskier following behind. Triss appeared a moment later. 

"You can ride with me," Triss offered, moving her horse towards Jaskier. 

"He's riding with me," Geralt quickly said, climbing up on Roach and offering Jaskier his hand before he had a chance to protest. Again, Jaskier gave him an odd, confused look, but after a brief moment he took Geralt's hand. He pulled the bard up onto the back of Roach. The horse made a small noise in protest, but settled when Geralt rubbed between her ears. Jaskier pressed his hands against Geralt's back to steady himself as he shifted around. His lute case nudged against Geralt's head a few times until Jaskier fixed it out of the way. 

"Might want to hold on," he warned over his shoulder. 

"Why? Are we in a hurry?" 

"In a way, yes." 

"We want to put as much distance between us and the bounty hunters as possible," Triss said as she climbed up onto her horse and checked her bags. 

"Bounty hunters?" Jaskier asked in a low voice. "What bounty hunters?! Geralt!" 

"We told you people were after you," Triss explained, smiling at him the same way a teacher would smile at a tiresome student. 

"You didn't say they were bounty hunters!" he pointed out. True. They had left that detail out, and Jaskier probably would have been better off not knowing who was following them, but the cat was already out of the bag now. 

"Does that mean you know why they're after you?" Geralt asked. 

"Gods no. That just makes it sound way more serious. Are they going to kill me?" 

"Apparently they want you alive," he answered. Jaskier didn't relax at those words.

"Oh, that's even worse isn't it? Someone wants to kill me themselves!" he exclaimed in dismay. At least he figured that out himself. "Why the fuck are they after me?"

"Good question," Geralt muttered, guiding Roach out of town with Triss at his side. They shared a look. Triss offered him a kind grin with a nod of understanding before she turned her eyes toward Jaskier. 

"Do you have any new songs?" she asked, sounding almost hopeful. Geralt sighed. Wouldn't take long now before Jaskier would start singing.

"I have a few I've been working on, but nothing that you haven't already heard since last time," Jaskier answered softly. 

"Really? That was two weeks ago. You haven't thought of anything new? Or finished them?" 

"Not yet," Jaskier confessed. "I've got a bad case of writer's block, actually. Haven't been able to get passed it lately." 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jask."

"Oh, it's alright! It happens sometimes. The music just stops flowing, but nothing to worry about! Everyone still loves ‘Toss a Coin.’ That always makes a big splash wherever I go. And ‘Her Sweet Kiss,’ though I have to read a room before playing that one. I think I may have ruined a few relationships with it." 

"I haven't heard that one," Geralt admitted, the words spilling from his lips before his brain could catch up. His mind screamed at him afterwards, but his heart was curious. He didn't recognize the title, and Jaskier spent just as much time coming up with his song titles as he did the songs. He'd remember if he heard a song by that name. 

"Which one?" 

"The second one." 

"Yes, you have." 

"No, I haven't." 

"I think you have. You just forgot," Jaskier claimed. 

"I don't forget. I always remember your–" he cut himself off clearing his throat. Too far. He went too far. That was not something Jaskier needed to know. He'd never live it down. Jaskier would hold it over his head for the rest of his human life. Geralt couldn’t have that. 

"What was that?" 

"We need to make up time," Geralt told Triss, ignoring Jaskier's question as they reached the outskirts of town. Triss nudged her horse into a trot. 

"Wait, Geralt, answer my–" 

He didn't give Jaskier time to finish before nudge Roach to match Triss’ speed. Jaskier let out a squeak, throwing his arms around Geralt's waist to avoid falling off. A grin appeared on Geralt's face. He felt Jaskier's face pressed against his back. Heard his heartbeat racing, pounding against his chest. The bard probably had his eyes closed. Geralt easily imagined what his face looked like right now and his smile only grew. A laugh almost escaped him. Almost. Suddenly, he no longer felt as if a piece was missing. He was whole. New. Alive, more than before. He forced the smile off his face. Why did Jaskier have such an effect on him? Why did he stir up such strange thoughts and feelings? His presence left Geralt with more questions than answers. They rode away from the Năvolad until the road widened. Geralt gently pulled on the reins, slowing Roach to a fast walk. 

"I know I'm pushing hard," he softly said to her, casting Axii to calm her down, "but we need to rush. We'll take a long break in the next town. I promise." Roach left out a huff. 

"Deal. All the sugar cubes you want." He ran his gloved hand along her neck, glancing around at the woods. Triss pulled her horse back to ride alongside, striking up a conversation with Jaskier. The distraction prevented Jaskier from asking about Geralt's early hiccup. He glanced sideways at Triss, giving a small nod of thanks. The mage met his look with a poorly hidden smile. Now that she had gotten Jaskier started, there was nothing they could do to stop him. The bard didn't spare a single detail, highlighting his travel from Anchor to Năvolad. He talked about the people, his performance, the food, the wine, his performance again. Around and around he went. The words were like a constant buzz in Geralt's ears, but rather than being annoyed as usual, he found comfort in the noise. 

Geralt noticed when Jaskier started to get quiet sooner than normal. Only an hour or two had passed, but Jaskier had stopped talking. Even Triss questions didn't prompt him to start up again. He gave answers but didn't jump into a new story. Nor did he hum or tap or do any of his normal habits. Instead, he remained quiet as if something heavy weight on his shoulders. Something like Geralt's cruel words. Or maybe something else? The bounty hunters perhaps? Was Jaskier worried they'd catch up? Did he not think he was safe with them? 

Geralt shut his eyes and sighed, trying to work through the words in his head. Now was a perfect opportunity for him to explain what happened that day on the mountain, for him to cast a line across the cavern between them, but every time he opened his mouth, the words ran away. It'd been easy to confess to Triss because he hadn't hurt her. Hadn't thrown months of travelling back in her face. He hadn't seen the look of pain and shock on her face. That's all Geralt could see now. The way Jaskier's mouth fell open. How his eyes grew wet but he kept a stiff lip. Geralt had turned away then, unable to watch, but he heard the cracks in Jaskier's words when he said his goodbye, and he smelled the scent of salty tears. It hadn't mixed well with Jaskier's sweet scent. 

"Jaskier," Geralt finally got the first word passed his lips. 

"Huh? What? Did you say my name?" Jaskier asked in confusion. 

"Yes. Do you need a break?" 

"Are you seriously offering to take one?"

Geralt didn't bother replying. 

"If you need to stop," Triss spoke up, "we can take a moment." 

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm doing alright. Better than usual actually. It's a lot easier to travel when I get to ride Roach. Plus, I got new boots," Jaskier said, sticking his right leg out to show Triss and Geralt. They were good boots. The bottoms were thick, providing good support, and the leather went up Jaskier's calf to protect from mud and dust. 

"They're a lot better for travelling. Though they don't match my clothes at all. Bit sad really, but since I've been travelling alone I thought it was time to get them.”

His last few words hit Geralt like a punch to the gut. Geralt was glad he got better shoes, but the reasoning, because he was traveling alone, curled up like a stone in Geralt's stomach. He must have gotten the boots soon after they parted, remembering Geralt's countless attempts to get him to buy new shoes if he was going to stay with him. Jaskier had always laughed, saying he didn't need to spend the coin on such things. Geralt worried now about how much those boots had cost. How many coins did Jaskier have? It couldn't be a lot. Not with how hungry he looked. 

Geralt bit his tongue over the course of the day. Triss and Jaskier started and stopped conversations, discussing the plants they saw along the road, or what they thought of Dorian. Sometimes, Jaskier asked Triss a question or two about her magic, and she asked more about Jaskier's songs. Geralt didn't add anything to the conversation. He hummed every now and again when Jaskier or Triss mentioned his name, but that was far as he went until the sun had gone passed its peak. He pulled Roach to a stop off to the side of the road, glancing behind them. They hadn't seen anyone all morning, nor had Geralt heard any noises besides the sound of birds and small animals. 

"We need to water the horses and rest for a moment," Geralt explained as he slid off Roach's back. He pattered her neck as he reached for his waterskin. He could hear a stream off in the distance, but he didn't want to waste time navigating Roach off the beaten road. He had enough water in his skin for now. 

"Here, Jaskier," Triss said, rushing over to help Jaskier off Roach as he struggled to get his leg over. She held onto him as he figured it out, then helped him slide down. Jaskier leaned back against Roach, offering Triss a grateful smile. 

"Thanks. My legs must have fallen asleep," he said, laughing to himself. "Not used to horseback riding." He shook his legs out, then reached towards his bag until he saw Geralt staring at him. He quickly pushed off of Roach, taking a large step away from the horse. He kept his hands up in surrender until Geralt turned his attention back to his bag. He hadn't meant to be caught staring, but it was better for Jaskier to assume he'd been annoyed about him touching Roach than the real reason. 

He pulled some salted venison out of his bag along with an older loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth. It might be a little stale, but it was good enough for an early afternoon snack, and he wanted to save the bread from this morning for dinner. Geralt wouldn't be surprised at all if Jaskier complained. He normally did when it came to food, but it was this or nothing until they stopped for the evening. He turned back towards the bard and shoved the bread into his hand without a word, then moved away from Roach. 

Jaskier took the loaf, kept his distance from Geralt, and stepped over to get into his own bag. He pulled out a waterskin and took a long drink from it, then unfolded the cloth to get to the bread. Geralt watched as he took a bite. The bard's made a face, yet he didn't say a word before taking a few more bites. Triss pulled food out of her own bag, offering some fruit to Geralt and Jaskier to go along with their own. Jaskier accepted while Geralt declined. He'd stick to his venison for now. Jaskier did offer a piece of bread, which he took with a nod.

"I heard it takes five or six days to get to Dorian, but I'm assuming with you we'll get there sooner," Jaskier noted as he finished off the last of the bread, wiping the crumbs off on his breeches and shaking out the cloth before folding it up and handing it to Geralt. 

"Four days max. Hopefully three and a half," Geralt agreed. "Once we're in town, we'll see if we can figure out who sent the men." 

"We might be able to buy them off," Triss offered. "Bounty hunters aren't known for their loyalty." 

"True, though I'm not sure any of us have that kind of coin." 

"Probably not," Jaskier muttered, staring at the ground. He appeared to be deep in thought, but when he noticed Geralt looking his way, he quickly offered an easy smile. "But if I perform well enough, we could get the coin we need." 

"They were offering 200 for anyone you could bring you in," Triss told him. Jaskier's eyes widened at the news. He mouthed the number, turning to give Geralt a look of shock. Geralt shrugged. He'd been surprised too. 

"Well, fuck," he cursed. "There's no way we're–I'm getting out of this." 

"You sure you don't remember anyone threatening you?" Geralt asked again, trying to keep the question lighter than previously. "Maybe one of the couples you upset with your song? Forgot to pay a tab at a tavern? Insulted the wrong guest?" 

"Upset enough to pay 200 coins for my head? No. I swear, Geralt. I've been staying out of trouble. I haven't wandered off the path or picked fights or snuck into anyone's bedchambers. I'm not that much of an idiot. Not anymore at least." 

Geralt had to look away as Jaskier pleaded with him to listen. Months ago, Jaskier had suggested they go to the coast. Had begged Geralt to listen, to walk away from Yennefer. Geralt hadn't listened then. He'd been blinded by his selfish thoughts. Become deaf to the advice of his close...He'd been dumb before. He didn't want to make the same mistakes.

"I believe you," he stated. He watched Jaskier's head shot up out of the corner of his eye. He could imagine the shocked look on the bard's face. 

"Really?" 

"If he didn't piss anyone off, why would someone send hunters after him?" Geralt asked, turning to Triss on the other side of Jaskier. He could feel Jaskier's eyes staring at his face, but he forced his attention to remain on the mage. 

"I have no idea. It doesn't make sense to me. He doesn't have any special abilities. His blood couldn't be used for any potion or spell. Neither could his heart. Or his liver," Triss replied, going down the list. 

"Nice to know I'm useless," Jaskier mumbled to himself, adding a grin to soften his words, but it wasn’t very convincing. A guilty look appeared on Triss' face. She reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder. 

"Sometimes, not being useful for a spell isn't a bad thing," she assured him. 

"No leads. No information," Geralt grumbled, irritation scratching at his spine. Jaskier and Triss glanced his way, before Triss quickly pulled Jaskier attention back by offering to let him look at her books to see if she missed a spell. How could he protect Jaskier if he didn't know who wanted him or what for? The bard couldn't run forever. The bounty hunters weren't going to stop until they got their mark, or they were dead. They wanted their money above all else, just like Geralt always wanted his. But even if they died, that didn't mean the client would stop. They could send more and more and more until they got Jaskier. If they were already willing to put up that much money for the job, they weren't going to just give up if their first attempt failed. 

Geralt suddenly growled, scaring Jaskier. He reached out and grabbed the bard's waterskin out of his hands, then walked over and grabbed Triss as well before either of them had a chance to protect. 

"I'll be back," he called over his shoulder, stomping towards the river. He needed space. Needed to clear his head. Come up with a plan. They needed more information, but the only way to get that was through the bounty hunters. If they could get one alone, then maybe they could make him talk. Geralt could also put out his own feelers, seeing the client was willing to hire a Witcher to bring them their prize. That would be harder to sell since the hunters clearly knew Jaskier used to travel with him. Geralt paused as a horrible thought dawned on him. This might not be Jaskier's fault at all. It could be Geralt's. People _knew_ Jaskier traveled with him. From his songs and from meeting Geralt with Jaskier at his side. People referred to Jaskier as his again and again. Trying to take Jaskier could be a ploy to blackmail Geralt. Geralt ran through the list of his enemies, hoping to narrow down who would want something to hold over him.

He made it to the small stream and filled their waterskins one by one since he walked all this way. A few birds chirped in a tree nearby, and a deer made its way through the trees, but the forest was peaceful. Safe and pure. Like Jaskier. Geralt stared at the moving water and thought about what the bard has said. How he swore he was avoiding trouble now. That he wasn't an idiot anymore. Geralt couldn't say how many times he called Jaskier an idiot. He never bothered to count, but he would guess it was quite a high number. The bard used to trip over roots and insult mayors without a second thought. Fearless. Without a single care in the world. Not anymore. 

Triss was right. Geralt needed to do something. Needed to repair the damage he caused and help Jaskier return to the way he was. Hopeful. Light. Someone who believed in the good of humanity, unlike Geralt. Unlike Yennefer. Someone who looked towards the future as an opportunity instead of a headache. Geralt stood back up and headed back towards camp. He had to find the words to fix this. He'd fought monsters. Faced mages and royals. He could apologize to a bard without losing himself. 

He paused, listening to a new sound. A familiar sound. The plucking of a lute and a soft musical voice. Jaskier. He strained his ears to hear him clearly. 

_"But you'll never be alone. _

_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn. _

_Baby, I'm right here. _

_I'll hold you when things go wrong. _

_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn. _

_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn._

_Baby, I'm right here." _

Jaskier's voice trailed off after the last word, though the lute kept playing for a while longer. Geralt's heart had moved into his throat, choking him as Jaskier's haunting lyrics echoed through his mind. He'd never heard that song before. It wasn't like the other ballads Jaskier played. Instead, it was sad and wanting. A plea for a lover to listen. A message of devotion. Jaskier's songs often had multiple messages and hundreds of hidden meanings. Geralt wondered when he wrote this one, and what the true meaning was behind it. It'd be strange for him to ask since he'd never asked before, but a large part of Geralt yearned to know the real message. He wanted to know what Jaskier had been thinking when he wrote it. What he thought about when he sang it just now. 

"He didn't mean it," Triss said, her words catching Geralt's attention. 

"I know." 

"But?" 

"He still had a point," Jaskier whispered, the words barely reaching Geralt's ears. "I kept getting him into trouble. I didn't leave him alone despite him asking me so many times. I needed to get out of his hair. Needed to leave him alone and things are better now that we don't travel together." 

"Better for who? For him? Or for you?" 

"Both." 

There was a short pause. Jaskier let out a heavy sigh. 

"Mostly him, I think. I miss travelling with him. He's snarky, and funnier than people know. And he'll deny it, he will until the day he dies, but he cares about people. And I like that about him. I...I always knew that one day he'd get sick of me. I just thought it wouldn't happen like that." 

"But if he apologized? Invited you back?" 

"I'd assume he was under a curse or a spell. Geralt doesn't apologize. He's too stubborn. I don't even think he's capable of saying the words. Which is alright. I don't expect anything from him. Plus he'd never invite me back because he didn't invite me in the first place. I tagged along. And...and now all this is just out of pity," Jaskier insisted. Geralt shook his head. Jaskier was wrong. Geralt hadn't come all this way because he pitied Jaskier. He wanted to keep the bard safe, wanted to prevent the hunters from getting him.

"It's not," Triss argued, almost pleading with Jaskier to believe her. "He cares about you." 

"No. No, he doesn't. He cares about you. And Yennefer. And his child surprise. And countless other people I bet, but me? No. Never me. I was always expendable. He made that very clear. Even when we were friends, I knew that." 

"Aren't you still friends?"

"I don't know anymore." 

"Jaskier–" 

"I think I've had enough of this conversation, thank you," Jaskier cut her off. Geralt heard him get up, then Roach let out a pleased sigh. Jaskier must be petting her. 

"I hope you two are able to work things out," Triss said, her words sounding like a blessing. When Jaskier didn't reply, Geralt started walking again. The sound of his footsteps almost covered Jaskier's last comment. 

"If I've learned anything from Geralt, it's that hope is often a fool's tool." 

"Fuck," Geralt grumbled to himself. He shook his head and stormed back over to them. Jaskier jumped when a twig beneath his boot snapped. 

"Triss," he called in warning. "Something’s–" 

"It's just me," Geralt growled before Jaskier could work himself into a panic. He broke through the trees, noticing how Jaskier's shoulders relaxed at the sight of him. He already had his lute strapped to his back again. 

"Oh thank the gods. I thought we were about to be eaten," he joked with a grin on his face. Geralt didn't laugh or smile at his words. Instead, he just shoved Jaskier's waterskin at him, forcing him to take it before walking over to hand Triss hers. She reached out and grabbed his arm, preventing him from pulling away.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, looking around him at Jaskier. Geralt could hear the bard muttering to Roach, asking the horse if she enjoyed his song. 

"Nothing." 

"Geralt–" 

"Perhaps you should stop trying to interfere," he hissed, staring her down until she finally let go of his arm without a word. He turned his back on her, returning to Roach and climbing up. 

"Let's get moving," he ordered, offering Jaskier his hand again. Jaskier quickly grabbed it and climbed up onto Roach, wrapping his arms around Geralt's waist right away. Geralt moved Roach back unto the road, waiting for Triss to climb up on her stead before tapping Roach's side. A fast walking pace would do for now. They wouldn't travel much farther, but putting more distance between them and Năvolad wouldn't hurt. It could only better their chances of avoiding the hunters. Their afternoon ride didn't include much conversation. Jaskier tried a few times, but now it was Triss who only gave short replies. Jaskier tried with Geralt too, yet all too soon he fell silent and still. Triss sent Geralt a harsh look, then pushed her horse forward to ride ahead. Geralt snarled at her back. 

Fuck mages and their stupid advice. Always thinking they know best. Always being a pain in the ass. Geralt glanced at the sky, watching as the sun moved closer and closer to the horizon. Time dragged, but finally, the sun got close enough for Geralt to justify stopping for the night. He pulled Roach to a halt, scanning the forest for a good place to make a camp. 

"We'll stop here for the night," he called to Triss up ahead. 

"Over there," Triss shouted, pointing out to a small clearing next to her within the trees. It was off the road, and big enough for the three of them to sleep and make a fire. Other travellers had probably used it before. Geralt guided Roach over, minding his head on the low branches. He slid off the horse first, offering Jaskier a hand to use on his way down. The bard took the offer, holding himself steady with Geralt's forearm until his feet were firmly on the ground.

"I'll build a fire," Jaskier suggested, already walking off to get firewood. Geralt stared after him in shock.

"You? Build a fire?"

"I've gotten quite good at it," Jaskier claimed, sending a bright smile towards Geralt as he grabbed a handful of dry leaves. "It might take me a few tries to get it started, but I've learned well."

"And who taught you?" Geralt wondered, pulling the bags off Roach's back and scanning the small clearing.

"You did," Jaskier replied, walking passed him. He found a spot where the grass had been cleared away and knelt down to stack the wood, following the same pattern Geralt himself used.

"I didn't–"

"I would watch," the bard muttered. "And after countless times, I memorized how you did it. It's saved my ass a few times. I can't do the–" He waves his hand in the air like Geralt's own sign "–but I've gotten better."

"I didn't know you were watching."

"You didn't know a lot of things." 

Harsh, but Geralt deserved that. 

He opened his mouth to protest, to say he did know things, but thought better of it. Instead, he let the conversation die, leaving Jaskier to the fire, and returned to his own tasks. Once he removed Roach's saddle, he tied her to a tree for safekeeping. He gently tossed Jaskier's bag over to him, then went through his own. He still had some salted venison, but they needed more than that for the three of them. Thankfully, they should have enough water to last through the night. He set his bags down and removed his swords from his back. He grabbed one, just in case he found big game, and checked to make sure he had his dagger in his boot for anything small.

"I'm going to go find some food," Geralt told Triss, glancing at Jaskier to make sure he was paying attention too and pointing him out to Triss with his eyes. 

"I'll stay with him," Triss promised, studying the bard herself. Geralt nodded, then stepped over towards Jaskier.

"Don't wander off," he firmly ordered. Maybe this time the words would actually sink into his thick head. 

"I won't," Jaskier said, poking at the small flame he'd gotten started. 

"I mean it. Stay here." 

"I heard you the first time." 

"I'll keep an eye on him," Triss assured Geralt. "I can see the road from here. I'll send you a warning if I see anyone coming." 

"Good," Geralt said, starting off into the woods. 

"Sorry you have to babysit," Jaskier muttered sadly. Geralt didn't hear Triss’ reply, but he had a feeling she'd say she didn't mind watching over him. Or something similar to that. Triss knew how to reassure people. Knew how to make them feel safe. Jaskier needed someone like her right now. Someone better than him who knew how to handle feelings and words. Who didn't have their head up their ass like he did. Geralt heard an animal moving through the forest and followed after it, staying quiet as he crept up behind. A crow flew over his head. A bad omen. Shit. He never liked omens. 

Clearly, luck had forsaken him. 

A squirrel darted out of a tree, catching the deer's attention and alerting it to Geralt's presence. The animal took off running, and he didn't feel like chasing after it. He'd had to find something else. Like a couple of squirrels. He eyed the brown one still on the forest floor. Might as well. It'll make for a small snack later. A well placed dagger, and the deed was done. He collected his prize, keeping low as he listened. He heard a rabbit, no two, and headed their way. A terrified scream tore through the forest. It sounded like a horse. Like Roach. Geralt's head whipped back towards camp. 

"Ge–!" 

Fuck! 

Jaskier! 

Triss!

Geralt ran back towards their camp, ducking under branches and over fallen logs. He got to the clearing but didn't see Jaskier or Triss. Jaskier’s lute was also missing.

"Shit!" 

He told the bard to do one fucking thing and he couldn't even do that! Where could they have gone? Roach neighed, tossing her head to one side. Towards the road. Geralt took off in that direction, listening to any voices over his footsteps. Finally, he caught onto a conversation. 

"Be careful!" someone snapped. "Mind his throat!" 

"He keeps trying to bite me," another man complained. Geralt paused, slipping behind a tree at the last second before he was seen. He waited a moment, then peeked around the tree. The bounty hunters. Damn it. How had they caught up to them? How had they even known to come this way? Triss had been right about there being more of them. Geralt counted seven total. Six on their feet, their horses standing nearby, and one still on the back of his stead. The leader with the bow on a white fucking horse. Of course. One of the other held onto the strap of Jaskier’s lute case, nearly dragging it along the ground. They had Jaskier surrounded in the woods on the other side of the road. No place for him to run. Cornered and trapped. 

"Hurry up with his hands," the leader ordered as two hunters twisted Jaskier's hands behind him. Jaskier kicked his feet and wiggled, trying to escape their tight hold. Fighting back with all the strength he had. There was a cut across his shoulder and he was swearing up a storm behind the gag they forced into his mouth. One of the hunters stepped forward and punched him in the stomach. Jaskier knelt over in pain. The others quickly used the opening to secure Jaskier's hands. 

"Careful!" their leader snapped. "They don't want him hurt." 

"Deserved it. Little shit. That's for hitting me with that fucking branch," the hunter spit in Jaskier's face, reaching up towards the side of his head where blood slowly trickled down. Geralt felt a sense of pride rise within. Jaskier always claimed he wasn't a fighter, but the bard was brave. Very brave. Geralt heard a small twig snap and looked over to see Triss hiding behind a different tree. He glared at her. Why had she left camp? She shrugged, offering an apologetic expression. 

Geralt scoffed, then nodded towards the hunters as he held up three fingers. They had the element of surprise, and Geralt didn't want to waste it. Triss nodded in understanding, kneeling down towards the ground and placing her hand on the earth beneath her feet. Geralt watched her lips move, repeating her spell again and again until he felt the magic growing underneath his feet. When Triss turned back towards him, he counted down with his fingers. When he made a fist, they both moved around their trees to attack. 

"The Witcher!" one of the men cried out. Too late. Tree branches, moved by Triss’ spell, grabbed him and slammed him into a tree. Geralt swung his sword at the closest two, knocking one off his feet and meeting the blade of the second. Triss' branches pulled a different man off his feet as Geralt tried to disarm his opponent. 

"Take the bard!" someone yelled. Jaskier let out a muffled scream. 

"Geralt! The horse!" Triss screamed, sending the branches straight through a man's chest and tossing the other one up into the air. He landed on the ground with a broken neck. Geralt twisted the man's sword out of his hands, then stabbed him in the gut before spinning around to see their leader riding off with Jaskier thrown over his horse. Geralt pulled out a dagger and sent it flying. It slashed the horse's back leg, prompting the animal to reel back as it let out a pained whinny. The leader failed to hold on well enough, falling backwards into the dirt. Jaskier rolled off the back when the horse reel again. 

Geralt watched as he scrambled to get to his feet. He took a step towards him, wanting to rush to Jaskier's side, but two men tried to surprise him from behind. Triss' branches got one of them while Geralt grabbed the other. Geralt had no patience left. He slit the man's throat at the earliest opportunity, then made his way towards the last remaining bounty hunter. Triss followed closely behind, now pulling her own dagger out and dispelling the branches. 

The leader had his hand buried in Jaskier's hair, using it as leverage to pull the bard towards his injured horse. The horse kept backing away despite the leader calling for it. Jaskier still refused to cooperate, dropping to his knees to make it more difficult for the bounty hunter to pull him. His face twisted in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks as the man yanked on his hair. 

Having seen enough, Geralt made his move. He body slammed the hunter first, forcing him to release Jaskier and knocking him off balance. He used his sword to slash the man's leg, putting him on his knees. Then he grabbed the man's own hair, stepped behind him, and put his blade against the piece of shit's throat. Triss rushed to Jaskier's side, removing the gag first. 

"What happened to staying at camp?" Geralt snapped. 

"I did!" Jaskier replied, panting heavily as Triss worked at the rope tied around his wrists. His hair was a mess. The bottom of his face was covered in drool and spit. His coat was ripped and cut up on one side, blood staining the sleeve. Hot anger pooled in Geralt's stomach. How fucking dare they hurt his Jaskier. 

"You didn't." 

"They attacked me! I tried to make a run for it!" 

"I wandered away," Triss spoke up, getting the rope loose enough to slip Jaskier's hands free. She stood back up and moved to stand in front of him slightly. "I saw some herbs and went to collect them. Then I got sidetracked and wandering farther away than I wanted to. I'm sorry. I thought we were safe. I didn't hear anything until they attacked." 

"See? It wasn't my fault," Jaskier said, venom dripping from his words as his face twisted in anger. "Always blaming me for stuff I didn't do." 

Geralt cursed under his breath at the words. That wasn't what he meant. Well, it was. But he didn't always blame Jaskier. Except he kind of did. Fuck. The hunter pulled at Geralt's hold. Geralt tightened the grip and pressed the blade harder into his throat. It hadn't broken the skin yet, but it was only a matter of time. It wouldn't take much to end the man's life, yet Geralt held off. He needed at least one of them alive, and judging by the state of the others, their leader was the lucky candidate. 

"Hand me the rope," Geralt ordered, snatching it from Triss quickly and using it to tie up the hunter. He forced him on his feet, shoving him towards their camp. He paused next to Jaskier. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked. 

"I'm fine," Jaskier replied, climbing to his feet. 

"Are–" 

"I said I'm fine." 

"Alright," Geralt grumbled, giving the hunter an extra large shove. 

"Why is he still alive?" Jaskier wondered as they fell in step behind Geralt. Jaskier paused at one point to grab his lute case. The hunter had dropped it as soon as he saw Geralt and Triss, but Geralt had lost track of it during the battle. Jaskier looked the case over, searching for any cracks or dents before holding it close to his chest. 

"We need answers. And he's going to give them to us. One way or another." 

"I'm not telling you shit," the hunter claimed. 

"That's what they all say that," Geralt told him. He glanced over his shoulder at Jaskier, wanting to see if the man was limping or walking strange. Jaskier glared at him, with narrowed eyes and a dark expression, when he noticed Geralt looking. Of course, he only managed to make things worse between them. That's all he ever did in life. Make things worse for the people closest to him.

"You two should check their horses. See if they have anything useful," he suggested, nodding to the small herd nearby. A few of them had bags. Hopefully they had food since Geralt hadn't been able to finish his hunting and the sun would be gone soon along with the light. "Then let them go." 

"Come on, Jaskier," Triss said, guiding the bard over to the horses. 

Geralt forced the man to sit down away from the fire. 

"Who hired you?" he asked. The man pressed his lips together and glared up at Geralt. 

"Are they worth dying for?" 

Still nothing. 

"Why are you after Jaskier? What do they want from him?" 

The man leaned back, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, only to spit at Geralt instead. Thankfully, he didn't have very good aim and the spit landed on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt turned his head and glared at the spot, then turned his hard stare towards the man. Why do they always fucking spit? Disgusting. 

"Triss," he called. "Do you have any useful spells for this shit?" 

"Not a spell, but I do have something," Triss loudly replied, leaving Jaskier to the horses as she made her way over her own bag. She searched through the contents before pulling out a vial filled with a yellowish-green liquid. 

"I thought we might need something like this," she explained, passing the vial to Geralt. "It should loosen his tongue. It's what we would use at court on failed assassins. He won't be able to fight it." Jaskier wandered over, staring at them curiously as Geralt uncorked the vial and forced the man's mouth open by pushing at the sides of his jaw. He shoved the vial into his mouth, holding him there until he had no choice but the swallow. When he let go, the man tried to spit it out, coughing and gagging for all he was worth. 

"How long does it take?" Geralt asked. 

"Not long. You'll know when he starts to sweat. They always do." 

Geralt looked her over, making sure she hadn't been injured in the fight. He noticed the hard look in her eyes, the way she stared at the man as if he was scum. The look didn't belong on Triss' face. 

"Are you–" 

"I'm fine. It's just...It's my fault," she muttered. "I shouldn't have walked away. He got hurt." 

"It's okay," Jaskier assured her, getting the words out before Geralt could as he walked over with his arms full of food, three waterskins, some knives, and other supplies. His lute had been returned to its rightful place on his back. "I'm okay. And we caught one of them. Now we'll get some answer and figure out how to get rid of them for good." 

"I'm sorry, Jaskier." 

"It's already forgiven." 

Geralt looked away, cursing Triss for how easily she gave her apology. And then cursing himself. It wasn't her fault that he hadn't apologized in decades. He shouldn't be angry at her, nor at Jaskier. He watched the hunter with a scowl, waiting until he saw the first bit of swear appear on his brow. 

"Who hired you?" he asked again.

"I don't know their name," the man replied, the words forced out of him by the potion. He struggled to close his lips, tried to keep the words at bay, but he couldn't overpower Triss' mixture. He leaned over as if he was going to puke. 

"They approached us in Nastog. Asked if we wanted to make a lot of coin with an easy job. They never gave a name. Not even when we asked. Said that their coin should be enough." 

"What do they want with Jaskier?" 

"His vocal cords." 

"My what?" Jaskier asked in shock, almost dropping the items he was holding. 

"They want his vocal cords. We were specially instructed not to harm his neck, and to avoid harming him as much as possible. They wanted him alive and healthy. Even offered extra if we avoid any scratches." 

"Did they say why?" Geralt pressed. The man shook his head, pulling himself back up to lean back against a tree behind him. 

"No. No, they didn't. In this business, you don't ask too many questions." 

"Were they wearing a symbol? Did they dress a certain way?" 

Again, the man shook his head. "They dressed like everyone else, and if they had a symbol I didn't see it." 

"Fuck," Geralt swore. This wasn't as helpful as he thought it'd be. 

"Wait," the man spoke up himself. "They were mages. I don't know if that's important, but they used magic. They left the city through a portal." Geralt glanced at Triss, who looked like she tasted something sour. 

"Are you the only ones they hired?" she asked. 

"No. They hired two other teams and sent them in different directions. They heard rumors from all over the Continent, but they couldn't be sure where the bard was, or where he was headed next. They were going to pay double if someone could bring the bard in by the end of the month in good condition." 

"They're in a hurry then," Geralt commented. 

"But not so much in a hurry to try and use magic to location him," Triss countered. 

"Well, this is just great," Jaskier declared, throwing his hands up and stalking towards the fire. "Some crazy mages want my vocal codes, but we don't know who they are or why they want them. That clears up everything!" 

"Do you know any spells that involves vocal cords?" Geralt asked Triss, ignoring Jaskier's freak out at the moment. 

"A few, but if they just wanted vocal cords, then why did they want him alive? They could have had the hunters slit his throat and taken back the body. Or ripped them out here. Keeping him alive doesn't make sense to me."

"Hmmm. So what do we do now?"

"Great question!" Jaskier screamed. Geralt rolled his eyes. This really wasn't turning out the way he hoped. He looked down at the man on the ground, debating what to do with him as well. 

"He might be able to lead us back to them," Geralt pointed out. 

"Maybe. But we don't know who we'd be meeting," Triss warned. 

"Do we need him alive then?" 

"I'll leave that up to you." 

“Wait,” Jaskier protested. “Why did you take my lute?” 

“They wanted the lute brought along with you. It was part of the order,” the man answered. Jaskier stared at the man in confusion, trying to put together all the pieces, but it was impossible with how many they were still missing. 

“Do you care what happens to him, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. 

“No.” 

The man glanced between the three of them, and for a moment, Geralt honestly thought about letting him go. It wasn't his fault he took a shitty job. Bounty hunter wasn't the worst profession in the world. Then, suddenly the man was on his feet again with a knife. Triss jumped back in surprise, but Geralt moved quickly. He knocked the knife out of the way, the blade hitting against the armor guard on his arm. He reached out, grabbed the man's head and snapped it to the side. The hunter crumbled to the ground when Geralt let go. 

"That settles that," he declared, moving to grab the man's legs. He couldn't leave him lying so close to camp. The body could attract animals or monsters. Best to move it away from the camp. He kept his eyes on the camp as he walked backwards into the trees. Jaskier made another trip to the horses, coming back with additional supplies and sorting them out. He passed some to Triss, made a small pile for himself, and another much bigger pile that Geralt assumed must be for him. Triss tried to get him to settle down so she could inspect his arm, but Jaskier kept brushing her off, insisting it was nothing but a scratch. Geralt went and took care of the other bodies, clearing them from the road and throwing some sticks and leaves overtop before he returned to camp for good.

"Geralt,” Triss said, getting his attention. 

“What?” 

“We both know of someone who knows more spells," Triss pointed out as he dragged the body away. "Someone who would help us." Geralt paused, shutting his eyes as he realized who Triss was referring to. Jaskier realized at the same time. 

"Oh no, no, no. Oh no, no, NO!" Jaskier chanted. "Don't say it. Don't you fucking say it!" 

"Yennefer." 

"Fuck, he said it!" 

"She's researched more than I have. And there's a chance she could have heard who was looking for Jaskier through other sorcerers." 

Geralt huffed, nodding his head. "Do you know where she is?" 

"Fuck everything!" Jaskier cried out. Geralt gave Jaskier a tried look over Triss’ shoulder. He could see the deep set scowl on Jaskier's face, but now was not the time for pettiness. They needed help and Yennefer could provide it. 

"I do. And I can get us there quickly if you'll allow it." 

"I will if it means we'll get better answers." 

"This honestly couldn't get any worse," Jaskier grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and turning around to plump down in front of the fire to sulk. Geralt could not agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jaskier sings is from this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGfmnRC5_vs  
I lost count of how many times I've listened to it while writing this story. The moment at :20 is especially great. 
> 
> If you want to reblog this story on tumblr, or talk to me about the story, you can find me [@holdthesewords](https://holdthesewords.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Special thanks to [Abagel ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagel/pseuds/Abagel) for looking over the story and collected my many, many spelling mistakes. 
> 
> Kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments are always adored!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all so much for your comments! There are not enough words in the English language for me to explain how much they mean to me! I was so nervous to post the first chapter, but the responses I got made it all so very worth it! 
> 
> That being said, this chapter was actually done over a week ago, but I went back again and again to make sure I got Yennefer right. Unlike in the show, I decided to make Yennefer more friendly towards Jaskier. You'll see why as you read. I know some people might not like it, but I think Yennefer has a lot of layers to her and I don't want her to just be one tone. She's still sassy though. Cause I love her sass. 
> 
> The timeline is also different from the show. Everything has happened closer together, but there's still a few years until the Fall of Cintra. 
> 
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

"Maybe we should stop and talk about this," Jaskier protested as Geralt finished packing up their camp. 

The moon shone over their heads, and the fire still burned bright, but they couldn't stay here. Geralt refused and Triss agreed with him. They needed to find Yennefer. Figure out what she knew and find answers to this mystery. They'd discussed the matter while Jaskier was busy letting the horses go. He sent each of them back towards the nearest town, calling them a random name throughout the process. If the horses were lucky, they'd make it back alive and someone would take them in. If they weren't, they'd end up as a monster's meal. Geralt didn't have the time to worry about them now.

"Why can't we wait until morning?" Jaskier asked, his voice going up an octave as he whined like a child. 

Neither Geralt nor Triss paid any attention to him. Jaskier hadn't been thrilled when Triss told him about their plan to abandon the camp for Yennefer's estate. In an act of protest, Jaskier had sat on a log and refused to move. He only packed his bag when Geralt threatened to do it himself, and he continued to argue the whole time. He claimed he was too tired. That his injury was bothering him. That he felt sick. He pulled out every excuse he could think of, but it did nothing to sway Geralt away from his decision.

"I wasted all that wood making a fire," Jaskier complained, brushing off some dirt from his breeches. 

It did nothing to help his appearance. He still looked a mess. He had yet to fix his dishevelled hair. The sleeve of his coat was ruined, stained with blood and cut through. His breeches and boots were both covered in dirt. They should look at his arm, make sure the bleeding had stopped, but Jaskier hadn't complained about it as much as he usually would. The thought of visiting Yennefer was serving as a distraction.

"We're in a forest," Geralt replied, waving a hand at the trees around them. "There's wood everywhere." 

Jaskier huffed, turning towards Triss for help. The mage had finished packing her bags moments ago and stood in the middle of the road with her eyes closed in concentration. Geralt didn't know what she was doing, and he didn't care enough to ask. When she didn't break open her eyes or break from her meditation, Jaskier turned his attention back towards Geralt with a plea clear as day written across his face. 

"Please, can't we wait?"

"No."

"But, why not?"

"Jaskier," Geralt sighed, tired of the man's constant arguing, "we don't have any other options. Yennefer will be able to help. And her estate will be safe." 

Jaskier had to understand that much. He knew the bard didn't get along well with Yennefer, and she didn't make things any easier, but they couldn't stay on the road. Not when there were more bounty hunters still on the lookout for Jaskier. It would only be a matter of time before they caught wind of Jaskier's movements and came after him. Did Jaskier seriously want to keep running until they were cornered?

"But why her?" Jaskier whined.

"Because we can trust her."

"Oh yes, because Yennefer is so very trustworthy. She's clearly the answer to all of life's problems. Let's just forget about when she nearly cut my dick off!" The arm waves were meant to emphasize his point, but they only increased Geralt’s irritation.

"The knife never even got close to you."

"It got close to my neck, Geralt! My lovely neck! Which I need if I want to sing! And she still threatened my dick. Which I have you know is also quite lovely. Many women and men would be very upset if something happened to it." 

"Do you know another sorceress that would be willing to help us?"

There was a long moment of silence where neither Jaskier nor Geralt looked away from each other. Geralt searched Jaskier’s eyes, trying to understand what was going on inside his head. Begging Jaskier to give him a clue, but the door into Jaskier’s mind was closed and Geralt couldn’t unlock it. Not without knowing the right combination or possessing a key. Finally, Jaskier broke their eye contact, looking down at his feet.

"No," he mumbled.

"Then like I said, we have no other option," Geralt growled. Jaskier shrank, hugging his lute closer to his chest. Geralt's heart protested at the man’s fragile appearance, urging Geralt to do something to fix it. He glanced up at the night sky for answers, trying to think of a way to better explain it.

"Jaskier–"

"I'm ready," Triss called before Geralt had a chance to get his words in order. 

He glanced at the mage, cursing her in his mind for her horrible timing, but then he gave a nod and grabbed Roach's reins. He led her away from the camp towards the road, looking back to check on Jaskier. He didn't move, and for a moment, Geralt feared he was going to have to force the bard through the portal. He didn't want it to come to that, but he would do it if he had to. Finally, Jaskier loosened his hold on his lute, swung it over his shoulder, and grabbed the reins for Triss' horse. He guided the creature through the trees. 

"Morning isn't that far off. We could still wait until dawn," Jaskier tried one last time.

"Yennefer will have beds for us to sleep in," Triss replied, attempting to appeal to Jaskier's soft nature. Unfortunately, this time it didn't work.

"More like a coffin," Jaskier muttered, pulling a face. Geralt gave him a disapproving look. Jaskier looked away, leaning against Triss' horse and whispering to the creature. "You won't like her either. Trust me."

Triss sent Geralt an unsure look, gesturing to Jaskier while he wasn't looking. Geralt shrugged. What did she want him to do about it? He wasn't going to be able to change Jaskier's mind about Yennefer in five minutes or less. This was the best chance they had at finding answers unless they wanted to go straight to the source of the problem, the mage who hired the bounty hunters. But they'd already agreed on that was a terrible idea. Triss nodded her head in understanding, then lifted her hand in the air.

"Try to hold your breath when you go through," she advised as the air started to swirl. Geralt made the sign for Axii, casting it on both the horses.

"Stay calm. Just keep walking," he suggested.

"Go now," Triss ordered. "I'll follow you."

Geralt led the way with Roach, holding on to her reins tightly as they got closer to the portal. He hated travelling like this. It never felt right, but he didn't have a choice. He took a deep breath, then stepped through. Another step and he was standing in front of a tall iron door attached to a giant, abandoned manor. So this was where Yennefer had taken up residence. Not bad. It didn't look like anything from the outside, preventing random farmers or townspeople from investigating, but those who knew Yennefer well enough would know how good she was at illusions. He pounded his fist against the door, surprised to find it was real, and listened as the sound echoed through the hallway on the other side. 

"Fucking shit," Jaskier exclaimed as he stepped through the portal. He let go of the reins and leaned over. Geralt reached out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady as his body recovered from the wave of magic.

"We are never doing that again," he swore, gagging a few times.

"Agreed," Geralt replied. At least they could agree on that. Jaskier looked at him, offering a small grin and matching nod. Triss came through the portal last, unaffected by its effects as she walked forward to stand next to Geralt. She lowered the hood of her cloak as she shut her eyes. Geralt noticed her mouth almost moving, but not fully, and he couldn’t hear any words.

"Yennefer knows we're here," she declared as she opened her eyes and met Geralt's stare. "She'll be down soon."

"Good. Yeah, good. The wicked witch cometh," Jaskier muttered to himself.

"Jaskier."

"What?"

"You know what," Geralt warned.

"I don't know what you're–"

The iron door suddenly opened, cutting off Jaskier's denial. Yennefer, dressed in a black and silver gown that hugged every curve of her body, appeared in the opening. Yennefer's necklace drew his eyes as always, but he tried his best not to let them drift any lower towards her breasts. As always, her black hair framed her face perfectly. The scent of lilacs and gooseberries hit his nose. An almost comforting scent. Almost, but it wasn't the same as Jaskier's.

"Triss," she greeted the mage first, crossing the distance and hugging the woman. "It's good to see you." 

"It's good to see you as well. It's been a while," Triss replied fondly.

"Thankfully not very long this time."

Yennefer turned her sights on Geralt next, looking him up and down slowly. Very slowly. Geralt raised an eyebrow at her when she finally reached his face. A smile appeared on her face.

"Geralt of Rivia. Our paths cross again, Witcher."

"So they do."

"And Jaskier," her eyes moved over to the bard, though her smile didn't fade. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"Hello, Yennefer. You're looking....the same."

"You as well. Except for those wrinkles," Yennefer commented, nodding at his forehead. Geralt shut his eyes for a brief, mentally cursing her. Jaskier's top lip pulled back in a snarl; however, it wasn't as threatening as he hoped. Rather more like a puppy trying to fight a wolf. This was the problem. They were always going at one another no matter what Geralt said. At least Jaskier hadn't started it this time. He gave Yennefer a tired look, but the sorceress's smile only grew.

"I'm surprised to see you all together. And at my door so late at night."

"We need your help," Triss confessed.

"I gathered that much. But is it something that can wait until tomorrow?" she asked. Triss looked at Geralt for an answer.

"Yes," Geralt admitted. Now that they had arrived safely, they could afford some time to rest before explaining the situation.

"Great. Come inside then. It's probably best that you all get cleaned up and rest," Yennefer said, glancing back at Jaskier. 

"Especially him. Has anyone even looked at that wound yet?"

Jaskier placed a hand over the cut on his shoulder, unable to hide his surprised expression.

"I'm fine," he lied. No one believed him.

"Not yet," Geralt answered. Yennefer tsked in disappointment.

"Yours horses can stay in the stables over there," she pointed out the building nearby. Triss walked over and took the reins from Jaskier, whispering to him when he tried to protest. Geralt started to lead Roach over to the building himself.

"You can come with me, Jaskier," Yennefer said, stepping in front of him to prevent the bard from following Geralt and Triss.

"I should–" he tried to protest, waving a hand at Geralt.

"Come with me," Yennefer repeated, grabbing his uninjured arm and dragging him through the door.

"Geralt!" Jaskier yelped.

"You'll be fine!" Geralt called, shaking his head as Jaskier continued to protest until he was too far away for Geralt to hear. They continued over to the stables. The building was in good condition and had plenty of room for two horses. Geralt led Roach into a stall, rubbing her neck and praising her for how well she did with the portal. She huffed at him, clearly unimpressed by the magic.

"She seems quite fond of him," Triss said as she found a stall for her horse and set about grabbing her bags.

“Who?”

“Yennefer.”

"You think she's fond of Jaskier?"

What was the expression Jaskier had once used? Was it _“short of a marble”_? How could she think that Yennefer was fond of Jaskier based on the way they acted? Maybe she hadn't seen enough of it yet. Fondness was the last thing Yennefer had for the bard. And Jaskier clearly showed his dislike every chance he got.

"I think so. In her own way. Jaskier is scared of her. Clearly, yet he never let that stop him from standing up to her. He challenges her in a way most people can't, but he has no real desire for her. After so many people only looked at Yennefer for her power, I think she likes that Jaskier is different. Though a tad....annoying. He grows on you, and you can't help but care about him."  
Geralt snorted. "A tad? That's putting it lightly. And Jaskier has a desire for everyone." He ignored the last part of her speech, not wanting to address the fact that Jaskier had grown on him too.

"That's not true at all. Jaskier is rather picky about who he shares himself with. He doesn’t just throw himself at everyone, but he doesn’t let little things like gender get in the way of his love."

"And how do you know this?"

"We've talked," Triss shrugged, adding some feed to the stall for her horse before moving again.  
"You should talk to him too."

"I will."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Geralt, I'm not trying to–" 

"I know," He cut her off, placing Roach's saddle by the wall and avoiding her watchful eyes. "I know you're trying to help. And you're right about some things, but I need to do this at my own pace. Not yours."

"That's fair," Triss softly agreed. "But I fear if you wait too long, it'll be too late. I don't want either of you to suffer in silence anymore."

"Tomorrow. Once we've all gotten some rest. I'll talk to him."

"Good."

They finished taking care of the horses, grabbed their bags, Geralt made sure to remember Jaskier's, and headed back towards the manor. The iron door swung shut behind them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Inside, the hallway was lined with brightly burning torches. A deep red carpet ran down the center of the floor. The walls appeared as if they had only just been placed a few months ago, unlike on the outside where there had been holes and thousands of cracks. Geralt listened for Jaskier or Yennefer, sniffing the air at the same time.

"Ow!"

"Hold still!"

"Do not touch me with that!"

"Calm down. It's just a needle."

"The cut isn't even that deep!"

Found them.

"Don't you trust me?"

"NO!"

"Good. You're still somewhat clever."

"You think I'm clever?"

"I said _somewhat._ Don't push it."

He followed the voices down the hallway, turning right when the path split, then left until he came upon an opened door. Inside, Triss and Geralt found Jaskier sitting on a table leaning as far away from Yennefer as possible. He covered his injured shoulder with his hand, and if looks could kill, Yennefer would already be dead. At some point, his coat and shirt had been discarded and were laying in a pile on the floor nearby. Geralt noticed a series of old bruises along his chest. His stomach was also starting to discolor from the hunters' attack. Yennefer held a needle with thread in one hand while she reached for Jaskier with the other. If she wanted to, she could easily pin the bard down with her magic and finish the treatment that way, yet instead, she was playing with Jaskier. 

“Geralt! Help! She’s trying to stab me!”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Liar!”

"I'll do it," Triss offered, dropping her bags by the door and quickly walking over to Yennefer's side. The two mages stared at one another for a while, until finally, Yennefer handed the needle over.

"Oh, thank the gods," Jaskier exclaimed as Triss took Yennefer's place.

"He's being a child about it," Yennefer complained, turning her back to hide a smirk..

"Isn't he always?" Geralt added, matching her expression as she walked towards him. A large fire heated the room, casting them all in an orange glow, and chasing away the nighttime chill. Geralt set his bags, and Jaskier's, down on the floor out of the way for now. Jaskier's lute was resting against the wall by the door.

"How's the monster hunting?"

"The same as always. How's your search going?"

"Fruitless."

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

"Shit," Triss muttered. "Why didn't you say something, Jask?" Geralt stepped around Yennefer to see, concern rising up in his chest at Triss’ tone. She'd gotten Jaskier to remove his hand and the bard had been wrong. The cut was deeper than it looked. Quite deep actually. His shirt had soaked up some of the blood, but there was still a mess across Jaskier’s skin.

"It's fine," Jaskier argued, reaching up to wipe at his face. Triss quickly grabbed his blood-covered hand and pulled it away before he could smear any of it. Jaskier glanced at his hand in surprise, lowering it slowly into his lap.

"It's not fine. I should have looked at it sooner."

"It’s alright. You were busy, and honestly, it didn’t hurt that much at the time."

Triss shook her head, not believing the bard's words for a second. Jaskier had complained about the cut briefly, but Geralt had chalked it up as him looking for attention, trying to buy himself time to avoid Yennefer. Fuck, he should have checked on the bard after the attack. He should have made sure he was okay. Triss set the needle aside and reached across the table for a bowl of water.

"So much for them not wanting to hurt him," Geralt cursed.

"Yennefer is right," Triss declared, gently poking around the cut. "It’ll need to be stitched."

"Can't you just heal it with magic?" Jaskier begged, reaching up to cover the cut again as if that would prevent the mage from using the needle. Geralt hoped Jaskier got over it soon. He didn't want to be forced to hold the bard down.

"Not everything can be solved that easily," Yennefer replied as Triss used a wet cloth to clean the wound. Jaskier screwed his eyes shut, curling in on himself from the pain.

"Fuck."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Triss said. "I'm trying to be gentle."

"It’s okay," Jaskier forced the words out and offered Triss a dazzling smile. "Do what you need to do, sweet nurse."

"Try to hold still," Triss warned as she moved the needle closer and pressed it through his skin. Jaskier gasped, grabbing the edge of the table. Geralt's feet moved on their own, carrying him over to Jaskier's side. He placed a firm hand on the bard's back, holding him steady as Triss worked. Thankfully, he hadn't removed his gloves yet so his hand didn't touch Jaskier's bare skin. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that right now.

The cut had probably been an accident, yet it still went so deep. Geralt wondered how it happened. Was it before or after Jaskier hit one of the men with a branch? What happened to the dagger he gifted Jaskier years ago? Was he still carrying it? Or had he discarded it after they parted ways?

"Here," Yennefer said, holding out a bottle to Geralt. "It should help the pain."

"What is it?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the bottle with distrust. Geralt smelled it, nodding his head.

"Rum."

Jaskier grabbed it from Geralt's hand and took a long drink. Geralt soon took it away before the bard could finish the whole bottle in one go. The last thing they needed was Jaskier drunk off his ass. Even though Geralt believed they were safe in Yennefer's estate, he couldn't trust the bard not to find some sort of trouble.

"Hey!"

"That's enough."

"Bunch of fucking control freaks," Jaskier grumbled, but he soon settled down and let Triss continue treating the cut. He still gasped and groaned with each pull of the needle, biting his bottom lip in a failed attempt to muffle the sounds, but he didn’t move around too much. Geralt's eyes were stuck on his mouth, watching as his lip slowly started to turn red.

"I brought food," Yennefer announced. Geralt hadn't even noticed she left the room. He glanced at her and was surprised to see a bright, knowing smile on her face. Like a cat who got the cream. What was she so smug about?

"Almost done," Triss promised, finishing the last few stitches and securing the knot. Yennefer handed her a long strip of bandage next. Triss tied it around Jaskier's arm, being mindful to place the knot on the inside so it wouldn't bother the cut.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Yennefer teased. Jaskier glared at her silently, reaching out to snag a pastry from the platter she'd brought out.

"So how is the Temerian court?" Yennefer wondered when no one else spoke for a moment. She grabbed her own bite to eat and turned her eyes on Triss.

"Things are going well. The Princess arrived and is adjusting well. There’ve been a few hiccups, but nothing we couldn’t handle together. She writes to me sometimes when I travel. I’m very glad that she’s been enjoying everything so much."

"That's good."

"It is. And the King is still very thankful for your help, Geralt. You should think about paying a visit. Jaskier too. I'm sure the court could use a bard's performance. And the Princess loves music."

"I wouldn't mind visiting stopping by. I've been all over Termeria, but I went around Wyzima this time. I might as well pay a visit to it's King before I'm done. And it's been a while since I've made a court appearance," Jaskier agreed.

"Where are we now?" Geralt asked, looking at Yennefer and Triss. 

"Gulet is about half a day's journey towards the southwest," Yennefer replied.

"Gulet?" Jaskier echoed, nearly choking on the food from the shock. Geralt understood the bard's confusion. One portal and they were suddenly across the border into Aedirn and weeks away from the town of Dorian.

"I'll take you back to Temeria when this is over," Triss promised, pushing more food towards Jaskier. He nodded, taking her offer with a smile. Geralt started at the two of them for a moment, wondering how deep their friendship went. He glanced away before either of them could notice, fighting back the green monster inside his mind.

"Where can we sleep?" Geralt wondered, ready to get out of his armor.

"Upstairs. There should be enough room for all of you."

"Wonderful," Jaskier declared, jumping off the table. "I'm exhausted."

“You’ll have to wait,” Yennefer declared.

“What? Why?”

“Because you need a bath first.”

“But–”

“You’re covered in blood, and I don’t want it on my sheets.”

“Geralt’s covered in blood too!”

“And he’ll take a bath as well, but since you’re so exhausted, you can go first.”

Geralt sighed as the bickering continued for a while. Normally, Jaskier would jump at the chance to take a bath, however, he did not enjoy being told what to do. At least not by Yennefer. Thankfully, Triss finally stepped in. She broke up the fight by grabbing Jaskier’s good arm, pulling him closer.

“Let’s go find a room so you can get cleaned up and rest,” Triss suggested. She didn't really give the bard a choice as she pulled Jaskier towards the door. He didn't put up much of a fight. 

"Wait, my bag–"

"Geralt had it."

Jaskier turned towards him. Geralt walked over and grabbed the bag out of the pile, offering it to him. Jaskier took it without a word, swinging it over his good shoulder. He grabbed his lute from the door while Triss grabbed her own bags.

"First two doors on the left," Yennefer called after them. “The water should be ready!”

"Thank you!" Triss replied. Geralt listened as they climbed the stairs. One door opened and closed. He could just barely hear Triss whispering to Jaskier, then the sound of splashing. He felt his shoulders relax.

"Thank you for letting us stay," Geralt said.

"Of course."

There was a moment of silence that Yennefer quickly broke. 

"Clearly, you still haven't talked to Jaskier about what happened," she declared, "Judging by the tension in the air and the way he keeps looking at you like you kicked him in the balls. Again."

She moved across the room to pick up Jaskier's discarded coat. She ran her fingers over the cut in the sleeve where the blood had soaked into the fabric. Geralt couldn't read the look on her face. Yennefer was too skilled at hiding what she was thinking when she truly didn't want him to know. She carried the coat over to Geralt, letting him take it from her hands without a fight.

"I regret telling you about that," he lied, staring down at the coat. Like Yennefer, he ran his fingers over the fabric. He started with the collar, trailing his fingers down the buttons on the right before moving on to the tore sleeve. The coat smelled like Jaskier, but the metallic scent of blood overwhelmed the sweet scent. So much blood. How had he not noticed sooner? They'd been lucky Jaskier hadn't been hit in a more vital area.

"No, you don't." 

"I don't." 

"Why haven't you?" Yennefer asked, stepping away towards the table. 

"Why haven't I?" he echoed. He knew what she was asking, but he didn't want to answer. Maybe he could stall long enough.

"Why haven't you talked to him about it? Apologized." 

"I'm planning on it."

"When?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Ah yes. Why do something today when you can keep pushing it off," Yennefer commented, giving him a side-eye as she picked up a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. She waved her hand over the platter, making some of the food disappear. 

"Why are you so concerned about my relationship with Jaskier?" Geralt growled. "I can manage it myself." 

"Can you?"

He glared at her silently as she slowly lifted a piece of apple to her lips. His eyes followed the movement, but he averted his gaze before she could wrap her red lips around the fruit. Months ago, he would have watched. Would have stared at her with desire as the heat in his stomach grew, but that time has long since passed, and the flame between them had grown smaller. There was still love between them, just a different type of love. He still cared about Yennefer, wanted her to be happy, but he wasn't on the path she needed to take. Rather he was standing off to the side on his own, offering a helping hand when possible as they both continued along their separate journeys. 

"I never said I was concerned," she replied. 

"Then why all the questions?" 

"Because I'm your friend. At least I think so. Or are you still acting like you don't need friends? Isn't that what you told Jaskier?" 

"That's not what I–" the words died in his throat. What difference did it make what he said or didn't say? He'd seen the looks Jaskier sent his way when he thought Geralt wasn't paying attention. The hurt that he tried to cover up, yet everyone, including Yennefer, could see it. 

"I didn't mean what I said that day. You know I didn't." 

"That doesn’t make my pain any less real. Nor his. You already apologized to me months ago, why can't you do the same with him?" 

"It's...," Geralt paused, trying to think of the right word to use. "It's different. With him. Everything is different. Nothing makes sense and I don't know why." 

"You're impossible. You know that right? _Impossible._"

"Yen–"

"The Great White Wolf and you can't make a simple apology to a bard." 

"I can," Geralt grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then do it. Tomorrow. Or I'll lock you in a room with him until you have no choice." 

She threw a piece of bread at him to emphasize her frustrations. It smacked him in the chest, but he barely feeling anything at all. He caught it before it fell to the ground. 

"And eat something." 

"You say you're not concerned, but it sounds to me like you are. Like you care about Jaskier's feelings," Geralt said, turning the conversation back towards her as he stared at her. Yennefer shrugged, her mask firmly in place, but Geralt could tell there was something underneath it all. Triss' echoed in his mind."You're fond of him." 

"The same way anyone is fond of a pet." 

"That's not it," Geralt protested. "I've seen how you treat your pets. You see Jaskier as something else. Almost like a friend." 

"Almost." 

"Since when?" 

There was a brief pause. Yennefer stared at him, her eyes clearly searching for something. Geralt gave her all the time she needed, just as he always did. 

"Since I realized he's not my competition," she declared. Geralt's face twisted in confusion. 

"Has Jaskier ever been scared of you?" she asked, the question coming out of nowhere. 

"Never. Not even when we first met," Geralt shook his head. Now when Geralt had yelled at him. He wondered where this conversation was going to go.

“He's terrified of me. Clearly. Yet he never misses a chance to challenge me. How do you explain that?" 

"He's an idiot?" 

"Well, yes, but he's also brave. Brave in a way no one else is. Not even you. The brave little bard who stands up to monsters and men. Who doesn't let witchers or mages shut him up." 

Geralt almost took offence to that, but instead, he understood where she was coming from. Jaskier feared the creatures of the night just as much as everyone else, yet he refused to let that stop him from travelling with Geralt, from seeing the world. He knew mages like Triss and Yennefer could easily destroy him, but he still flirted or fought with them as if they had no power over him. Foolish bravery with a lack of self-preservation. 

"I thought I had to fight with him to get your attention," Yennefer admitted. Geralt kept his face blank, not wanting her to feel judged as she spoke about that time. He knew it was still a sore spot for her. What he said on the mountain to her hadn't truly faded from her mind yet. "But then, I think we both realized we're not destined to stand by each other's side. Not the way Jaskier and you stand by one another. There is something between us. A fondness that grows with each passing year, but it's not the same as what's links the two of you. It took me a while to realize it myself, and when I did, I stopped seeing Jaskier as such a pest and saw him for what he really is." 

"And what is he?" Geralt wondered, truly interested in hearing Yennefer's answer. The bard had been called a lot of things. Idiot. Womanizer. Husband Thief. Menace. And far, far worse titles. 

"A reminder. A reminder to all of us to be more like him. Human. You and I, and Triss, have lived through many decades and we will survive many more, and yet Jaskier lives his life to the fullest, more than any of us. He doesn't let anything hold him back. I used to hate it. How free he was, but now I've realized he wants us to join in with him. To throw off the roles we've been forced into and just be who we want to be." 

"We can't do that." 

"No. But at least with Jaskier, we could try. He makes me want to." 

"I never thought I'd hear you say that you're fond of Jaskier." 

"Me either. It feels strange, but he grows on you. Like mold." 

Geralt couldn't hold back his laughter. Yennefer joined him. 

"You'll fix this, Geralt–" 

"I will," he cut her off softly. 

"–Or I'll curse you." 

"You'll have to get in line behind Triss." 

The small, proud smile on Yennefer's face spoke volumes, yet Geralt decided it was best not to comment at the moment. 

"You need to bathe," she announced, "before you make my whole manor smell like blood and horse."

"I will." 

"Take the room across from Jaskier's," Yennefer suggested. Geralt stepped over to her, bending down to place a kiss on her cheek. 

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm thankful he has other people who care about him." 

"Sometimes, I don't want to." 

"Neither do I. Yet here we are."

"Fucking bard."

Geralt chuckled again, stepping away. Their eyes met. Maybe in another lifetime, their relationship could have worked out. He’d be the man Yennefer needed, and they’d fit together perfectly, but that was not the case. Yet, he found no malice in Yennefer’s eyes. Only understand and love, a different type of love that Geralt was thankful for all the same. He bowed his head towards her, hoping she understood how much he respected her. 

"Good night, Yen."

"Good night, Geralt. Sleep well."

He left the room, climbing the stairs slowly as fatigue sank into his bones. It’d a few days since he actually slept. Meditation would be enough tonight. Down the hall, he opened the second door on the right. Inside, a four-post bed with a white canopy called to him, but so did the large wooden tub filled with steaming hot water. He turned back towards the hall and took a deep breath through his nose. He caught Jaskier's sweet scent coming from the other side of the hall. The sharp metallic smell was gone. Geralt listened closer, focusing on the steady of Jaskier’s heart and his slow breathing. He listened closely, hearing the steady beat of the bard's heart and his slow breathing. Already fast asleep. Good. Jaskier needed his rest.

Geralt walked into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He set his bags down on a chair next to a desk in the corner as he did a better scan of the room. One wall held a large, grand fireplace, but Geralt didn’t see a need for a fire tonight. Yennefer’s magic kept the room warm already. Tall narrow windows framed the bed on either side, but the curtains had been drawn. Hopefully, they’d keep out the light when dawn broke. The wooden floor had been covered with a plush red carpet. Yennefer had done a fine job making this abandoned building into a safe place.

He pulled off his gloves, throwing them on the desk before removing his swords. He walked over and leaned them against the wall next to the bed before pulling the other dagger from his boot. He slid it underneath his pillow for safety. He trusted Yennefer, but he didn’t trust whatever mage was after Jaskier. He turned back to the desk as he started working on his armor. He started with his arm bracers first, setting them both on the desk after removal. Next, came his chest plate followed quickly by his shoulder guards. His armor needed to be clean, and he knew he should do it now, but the water was calling to him.

Instead, he kicked off his boots, removed his last few layers of clothing, and made his way over to the tub. He sank down into the water until it reached his neck. He leaned back against the side of the tub, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes. He focused all his attention on the room across the hall, listening for any changes in Jaskier’s breathing, heart rate, or scent. His thoughts went over Yennefer's words. He was still surprised about the development, yet also grateful that Yennefer didn't see Jaskier as a pest or a hindrance. It would take time for Jaskier himself to stop acting like Yennefer was about to kill him at any moment, but there was hope for the future. 

It made him...happy. The fact that Yennefer understood and was coming to terms with how their paths had divided, yet not fully separated. He didn't want to lose her as a friend, nor gain an enemy, and he still regretted the pain he put her through. He still didn't quite understand why the idea of apologizing to Jaskier was different than apologizing to Yennefer. The sorceress hadn't taken his words well, nor had she'd been thrilled to see him again, but the words spilled out of Geralt's mouth right away and Yennefer had listened. She never said that she forgave him, but they’d been able to move beyond his mistake. Words were easier with Yennefer but impossible with Jaskier. Why? What was different about the two? What was he missing? 

The water eventually grew cold, prompting Geralt to sit up. He glanced around the room for a towel or something. He didn’t want to get the bed wet from the water remaining on his body. He noticed one had appeared on the desk after he'd taken off his armor. He wasn't surprised. Rather grateful that Yennefer’s magic had taken care of it. He climbed out of the tub, grabbed the towel and dried off the worst of the water. He searched through his bags for a cleaner pair of breeches, slipping them on over his legs. He paused, checking on Jaskier one last time before making his way over to the bed. He fell straight down on the mattress, not even bothering with the blankets. For a moment, his mind tried to start working on what he was going to say to Jaskier tomorrow, but his body refused to listen for very long as his eyes slipped closed. Eventually, his thoughts drifted off and a man with bright blue eyes and laughter like music took over as he started to drift off, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. 

Geralt woke to the sun fighting to shine through the curtains. He ran a hand over his eyes, letting out a long sigh that turned into a small yawn as he sat up. He glanced around the room, doing a quick check to ensure all his belongings were in their original places. The tub from last night was gone, though he knew better than to ask how. Once he was sure nothing was missing, he listened to the world coming awake. A couple of birds chirped outside. A mouse, or a rat, scurried under the floorboards. Someone was still sleeping across the hall, and he could hear two soft voices were talking downstairs.

Geralt rolled out of bed, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to his bags. He checked his potions and other supplies, following his usual morning routine. Once he finished taking inventory, he pulled on his boots and grabbed his spare shirt. He reached for the doorknob, then froze. Glancing over his shoulder at his swords, Geralt debating if he needed them. He wrestled with himself for a moment before deciding that no. He didn’t need them. He settled for a dagger slipped into his boot. 

He stepped out into the hallway as he pulled the shirt over his head. He looked down the hallway, noticing the door at the end of the hall leading to Triss’ room was still closed. Across from him, Jaskier’s door had been left cracked open. He listened closely to the voices, realizing it was Yennefer and Jaskier. Triss must still be asleep. Understandable. She had used a lot of magic last night between the vines and the portal. Geralt stepped across the hall and peeked into Jaskier’s room.

The room included a similar bed, desk and chair, but the bed was pushed into a corner with the desk next to it. The fireplace was at the opposite wall from the bed and in between, on the wall, straight out from the door, was a similar set of tall windows with a large mirror in between. Jaskier's bag sat by the bed, its contents spilled across the floor. He saw the bard's songbook and a few quills resting on the desk. The breeches he'd been wearing the day before were thrown over the chair. Geralt stepped into the room a bit more, breathing in the lingering sweet scent as he turned his attention to the voices below. 

“Let me look at it,” Yennefer ordered. 

“It’s fine. It doesn’–Ow!” 

“Let me see.” 

“Get your hands off me, witch!” 

“I’m trying to help you,” Yennefer snapped, losing her patience as Jaskier refused to give in. “What if it gets infected? Do you want to lose your arm?” 

“Triss wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“And neither will I. Now hold still and let me see.” 

“I said it’s fine,” Jaskier hissed, his voice like iron. There was a moment of silence. Geralt could easily imagine the dark look Yennefer was probably giving him. The expression of defiance on Jaskier’s face, his eyes harder than ever before. A chair loudly scraped against the floor. 

“We should wash it after breakfast,” Yennefer said. Her tone was softer than before. “And I want to know if it starts to feel any different.” 

“I’ll let you know.” 

“No you won’t, but at least tell Triss. Or Geralt. Don’t suffer in silence. You’ll only upset them both if they find out later.” 

“I will.” 

“Speaking of Geralt–” 

Shit. The last thing he needed was Yennefer getting even more involved in the situation. Geralt needed to stop her before she said too much. He quickly stepped out of Jaskier’s room and headed down the hall, making sure every footstep echoed loud enough to be heard downstairs. He paused at the top of the stairs, unable to hear any more voices. He descended the staircase in a quieter fashion, returning to the same room as the night before. He found Yennefer and Jaskier nearly as far apart as possible. Yennefer was sitting at the table with a book in one hand and a goblet in another while Jaskier perched on a chair in the corner with his lute. Another small table with a plate of food and two mugs sat nearby, but it looked untouched. The bard had traded his red clothes for a teal outfit with silver details. Geralt noticed that Jaskier's outfits were either a shade of blue, red, or gold. He wondered why then shook his head to get rid of the thoughts. Why would he care what colors the bard wore? Useless information, but his heart was still curious.

“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted the bard first, nodding his head. Jaskier looked up and offered him a tired grin as Geralt approached. 

"Good morning, Geralt. Did you sleep well? Did you have lovely dreams? Tell me about them," he asked. Geralt answered with a tired grunt. That didn’t deter Jaskier. It never did.

"I had–"

"Did you tell her?" Geralt asked, cutting into Jaskier's rant before he could get started. They had more important things to worry about at the moment. He could listen to Jaskier ramble at another time. The bard fell back against his chair, aggressively plucking at his lute's strings as he pouted.

“He didn’t,” Yennefer answered. “Though I did ask.”

“You did not!”

“I did. You just ignored me.”

“She didn’t ask,” Jaskier insisted when Geralt gave him a disapproving look. “I’m serious, Geralt! She never asked about it.”

“Yen.”

“Tell me your tale, witcher,” she replied, moving passed her teasing as she kicked a chair towards him. 

Geralt took it and sat down, turning his back to Jaskier. His lute plucking resumed, louder and more annoying than before. It grated at Geralt’s ears, but he learned how to block out annoying sounds decades ago. Yennefer pushed a plate of food and a mug his way, nodding her head. Geralt grabbed a meat pie and obeyed her request. He told her their tale, giving her the necessary information, but nothing else. Yennefer set down her book as she listened. Jaskier’s plunking slowly eased until it stopped altogether. He heard the bard’s heartbeat quicken when Geralt mentioned the hunters’ attack. He just reached the part about questioning the leader when Triss walked into the room. 

“Sorry,” the mage apologized. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“No need for apologies,” Yennefer assured her. “You used quite a lot of Chaos last night from what he’s told me.”

“Well, I couldn’t let them take Jaskier.”

“You could have.”

Jaskier held his breath. Geralt waited, ready for the bard to snap at Yennefer, but it didn’t happen. Jaskier released the breath instead, though the lute-playing started up again. Geralt took another meat pie from the plate and turned to check on Jaskier’s progress. His plate still appeared untouched.

“Have you eaten at all?” he asked.

“Course.”

“Liar,” Yennefer declared. Jaskier’s face darkened as he glared over Geralt’s shoulder at her.

“Eat,” Geralt ordered. Jaskier slowly reached out and grabbed an apple from the table along with one of the mugs. He continued to stare until finally, Jaskier took a large, overly dramatic bite of the apple. He made a face at Geralt as if daring him to challenge the action, but Geralt let it go.

“What did the hunter tell you?” Yennefer asked, pulling Geralt’s attention away from Jaskier and back to the matter at hand.

“They said that their client wanted Jaskier’s vocal cords.”

“His vocal cords? Really?”

“That’s what he said.”

“I was thinking about it last night,” Triss said, sitting down in a chair next to Yennefer at the table. Their chairs were rather close, but Yennefer didn’t seem to mind. They also stared at each other with something....else in their eyes. “What if the mage lied to the bounty hunters? What if they don’t really want Jaskier’s vocal cords at all, but they used it as a trick to ensure they didn’t....” She trailed off.

"Didn't slit his throat to shut him up?" Geralt finished for her. Jaskier let out a helpless noise at the comment. Geralt spared him a quick look, noticing Jaskier looked slightly green. The apple in his hand still only had a single bite. Geralt sighed. Clearly Jaskier was in a certain mood this morning.

“They wanted his lute too,” Triss added.

“They wanted his lute?”

Yennefer sounded rather confused at the idea. Good to know that it wasn’t just Triss and Geralt missing something obvious.

“Apparently.”

“How strange.”

“I went through my books, but I couldn’t find anything referring to fresh vocal cords. Or a lute. I thought maybe I’d find something about wanting a better singing voice, but that doesn’t call for vocal cords.”

“No. One just needs a bird if they want to sing better,” Yennefer agreed. She took a sip from her goblet, staring off into the air as she got lost in her thoughts. Geralt and Triss shared a hopeful look.

“Nope. I can’t think of anything else that would call for such a component,” Yennefer declared. “I honestly don’t see any reason why a mage would want Jaskier. He’s just a bard. There’s nothing special about him. He has nothing you can use for a spell or ritual. He’s just human.”

“That’s what I said, but I thought maybe I missed something.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t a mage at all. Perhaps it was a noble pissed off because Jaskier snuck into their partner’s bedchambers.”

_Slam!_

Geralt turned at the sound, watching as Jaskier stood from his chair and stormed out of the room without a word.

"Jaskier!" Triss called out.

"Let him go," Yennefer suggested. "He's been cranky since he woke up."

"He always is," Geralt muttered, looking at Jaskier's empty chair. The bard had left his lute, and his apple, behind, but had taken one of the mugs.

"I'll be back."

“While you’re...dealing with him,” Yennefer said. “I’ll try to reach out to some of my contacts. And Triss can look into what the Brotherhood knows.”

“Good. Do that,” Geralt agreed before exiting the room. He paused outside the door to listen, but he couldn’t find Jaskier’s heartbeat. He must be too far away for Geralt to hear. Thankfully, his scent still lingered enough for Geralt to follow it, but there was a sour undertone now. Geralt couldn’t help but feel surprised that Jaskier had gotten so upset by Yennefer’s words. Usually, the bard was able to let it roll off his shoulders, throwing his own words back. He climbed the stairs, expecting to find Jaskier barraged in his room, but the door was still open and the bard wasn’t there. Instead, his scent continued down the hallway. Geralt kept going, weaving left and right through the maze of hallways. How could this place be so fucking big? Oh yeah...magic.

Finally, Geralt came upon a pair of wooden doors leading out to a large balcony. Jaskier stood by the edge, looking out at the world. The sour smell had grown, nearly overtaking the sweet. Geralt didn’t like it. It felt him feeling off-kilter. He realized now would be the best time for him to talk with Jaskier. Without thinking, Geralt took a step back as his mind reeled. A moment later he was calmer, but still, his chest felt heavy and tight. He could do this. He had to. He needed to fix things, and he wanted to. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted...he wanted his friend back. He looked down the hallway, then stepped out onto the balcony before he could second guess himself. He shut the doors behind him. Jaskier glanced over his shoulder for a brief second, then turned back to the view.

“Look, Geralt. I bet you can see Vengerberg from here. And I think I saw a deer! We should go track it down for dinner. Well, I mean you’ll track it and I’ll follow you. Or you can go alone. Might be better if you did. I’m not good at the whole hunting thing.”

He was rambling. Filling the silence with empty words to avoid what was bothering him. Geralt had seen it happen before when Jaskier got nervous or worried.

“Jaskier,” he tried to get the bard’s attention.

“Do you see that little spot over there?” Jaskier kept going, pointing off in the distance. “I think that’s Vengerberg. Isn’t Yennefer from there? Do you think she’s been back? Maybe we should take a trip there first. Have Yennefer show us around her old stomping grounds.”

“Jaski–”

“Nothing rhymes with Vengerberg. Which is a shame really. Well, I guess I could use Battenberg or zuckerberg, but the second one isn’t even a word. It's just sounds. It doesn’t mean anything. Not good for a ballad.”

“Jaskier, enough,” Geralt snapped. Jaskier went silent, shrinking his shoulders to make himself smaller. That wasn't what Geralt wanted at all. He sighed, frustrated with himself all over again. 

"Tell me what's wrong." 

Fuck that came out sounding like an order. 

"Please." 

At first, the bard said nothing. Geralt waited, trying his best to be patient. Maybe if he gave Jaskier a little time. Or maybe he should ask again. Try to be nicer. More opened. Gods this was horrible. He wasn’t made for this kind of stuff. 

"You have no idea how it feels," Jaskier muttered, but he trailed off suddenly as he shook his head and looked away from Geralt. A salty smell hit the air. Geralt didn't comment on it, pressing his lips together instead. "You have no idea what it's like to stand in a room full of beautiful, special people. People with powers beyond your wildest dreams, and be nothing. Useless. Just a plain, stupid, foolish human. Who annoys everyone he meets. Who can't do anything right. It must really be amusing to you that someone wants to kill me when I'm just a lowly bard." 

"It's not," Geralt protested. His words sliced through Geralt's heart. The idea of Jaskier dying, of someone wanting to kill him of all people, wasn't amusing at all. It was terrifying. It chilled Geralt's blood. 

"I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble. Again. I can't keep track of how many times you've saved my life. Or how many times I've ruined yours. I really am sorry, Geralt. For dragging you into this mess after you got out of it." 

"You didn't ruin my life," Geralt insisted, but Jaskier only shook his head and still wouldn't look at him. 

"I'm sorry." The words left his mouth suddenly. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest, eased. 

"Wait, what?" Jaskier asked, finally turning his way. His eyes were red, but he must have forced back the tears because Geralt didn't see any marks on his cheeks. 

"I...I'm sorry, Jaskier. For what I said. I nev–" 

"Holy shit. You're actually apologizing," Jaskier said in shock, putting his hands on his chest in shock. "I'd never thought I would see the day when the White Wolf actually would apologize to me!" Geralt glared at him, raising an eyebrow to ask if he could continue. Jaskier waved a hand for him to go on. 

"Sorry. I'll shut up. Please, continue." He almost looked giddy from all his excitement. 

"I didn't mean what I said on the mountaintop. I was angry. Tired. Pissed about other things and I took it out on you because you were there. I needed space, but instead of asking for it, I pushed you away. Everything...Everything isn't your fault. And you don't cause trouble." 

"I kind of do." 

"Not all of it. And not all the time," Geralt went on. "And...and..."

"And?" 

"And I'm sorry that it took me so long to apologize. I should have done this months ago, when we first saw each other again, but I didn't because I couldn’t find the words. I regret that day, and I regret wasting so much time." 

A bright smile spread across Jaskier's face. Geralt's mind went blank at the sight. The man's eyes, those deep blue pools that always drew him in, sparkled just like before. There was still something off, something not quite right hidden deep, but it had been months since Geralt had seen that fire burning so brightly behind Jaskier's eyes. The last of the tension in Geralt fled, chased away by Jaskier’s smiling face.

"It's already forgiven," Jaskier assured him. 

"Don't just forgive me," Geralt shook his head, stepping closer. "That's not fair to yourself." 

"But I do. Forgive you. I knew you didn't mean it. I watched you argue with Yennefer and part of me knew it'd be better to leave you alone, but I didn't. I should have given you space. Instead, I tried to push you too soon. I thought I could help, yet I made everything worse." 

"You didn't," Geralt protested. Why couldn't Jaskier see that it wasn't his fault? Geralt refused to let either of them out of the conversation until Jaskier understood. Until Geralt got it through his thick skull.

"I did. I let my anger cloud my judgement. Having a bad day is no excuse for what I did. There is no excuse, no reason for me to treat you like that. I know I denied it before, but you are my friend, Jaskier. Probably the best one I’ve ever had,” Geralt explained, turning his attention towards the horizon. The forest seemed to go on forever, countless trees filled with animals. Hiding monsters. Geralt used it as a distraction, unable to look into Jaskier’s beautiful eyes. “For years, I thought I couldn’t be anything but a Witcher. A tool for killing monsters. Life could only be about money and coin because that’s all I was allowed to want. No one could see beyond my mutations. Beyond my mistakes. Instead, I was forced into a single role. The Butcher of Blaviken. A mutant. An emotionless, monster killer. Nothing more. 

“People feared me. Hated me. Treated me like I was another monster unless they needed me to kill something. And after so many years I started to believe it too. I started to give in to the idea that I couldn’t have any feelings. That I didn’t care about the rest of the world because why should I? It never cared about me. But then...then you came along.” 

He paused, glancing over at Jaskier. The bard had moved closer at some point, standing within arm’s length now. He stared back at Geralt with an unreadable look in his eyes. The previous sour hint to his scent had faded away, replaced with a cinnamon tone instead. Geralt shut his eyes, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting aroma. 

“You weren’t scared. You were never scared. Not of me. I thought it had to be a trick. Some plot, but it wasn’t. It was true. You didn’t see me as a monster. You didn’t buy into the idea that I couldn’t feel anything. You...You followed me around looking for adventure and wrote songs where I’m a hero,” he paused again, hoping Jaskier understood how shocking that had been. At first, he’d been annoyed about Jaskier’s songs because they were untrue, but as he listened closer he saw how the bard was trying to portray him. Casting a new light in the dark. 

“Suddenly, I don’t want to play the part assigned to me anymore. I don’t want to be what other people I say I have to be. Instead, I want to be the man you sing about. Or at least try to be. I want to be more than the Butcher. More than a Witcher. If that all makes sense...” He trailed off as Jaskier stepped closer until he was invading Geralt’s space. Just like old times. So close, yet still no fear in his eyes or scent. The bard’s heart rate had increased thought. It beat against his chest like a heavy drum. Geralt almost reached out to touch Jaskier, wanting nothing more than to place his hand on the bard’s waist and never let him go. Pull him closer for once instead of Jaskier have to reach out. His own heart sang, begging him to step forward. Close the distance between them. His eyes flicked down to Jaskier’s lips. It’d be so easy for him to lean down. Jaskier suddenly opened his mouth to speak, and Geralt was hanging onto every breath. 

_ SLAM! _

The doors to the balcony flew open as Yennefer appeared. Jaskier jumped away from Geralt as if he'd been blast by magic. Geralt also turned away, cursing himself for getting so close. What was he thinking? Had he lost his mind? No, his heart protested. He knew what he was thinking, and he wanted it, but that didn't mean Jaskier wanted it too. He didn't want to ruin their friendship by crossing a line. Yennefer glanced between the two of them for a moment. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Geralt. His glare was the only answer he provided.

"We found something," she declared.

"Amazing timing," Jaskier whispered, turning his back on Yennefer to stare at the trees. Geralt agreed. Just a few more seconds was all they needed. 

"Can't it wait?" Geralt growled. A small part of him hoped he could recreate the moment. Get a second chance. 

"No, it can't." 

Geralt raised an eyebrow as Yennefer's expression grew troubled for a brief moment before she smoothed it away. Geralt had a terrible feeling he wasn't going to like what they were about to tell him.

Back in the room downstairs, the table was covered with several dozen books opened to different pages and countless pieces of parchment. Yennefer disappeared into another room while Triss handed Jaskier a small piece of parchment with a list of names.

"You're not the first bard with a bounty on your head," she explained as Jaskier read the list. 

"Five have gone missing over the past two months. One of Yennefer's contacts said multiple bounties were placed on each bard and they all came with the same set of instructions. Along with a high amount of coin. The bards' vocal cords were to remain in perfect condition, no injuries allowed, and the hunters were to also retrieve their instruments."

"Just like with Jaskier," Geralt grumbled, glancing at Jaskier. The bard looked ill as he stared at the list.

"Did you know them?"

"A few," Jaskier whispered, meeting Geralt's eyes for only a moment before he turned his attention back to Triss. "What happened to them?"

"Someone, I don't know who, brought this to the attention of the Brotherhood, but they didn't think any of it." 

"Why would they?" Geralt muttered. The Brotherhood didn't care much for anything besides their own power and books, though he kept that opinion to himself. Yennefer had left the Brotherhood behind, but Triss was still involved in the organization. Geralt wanted to believe there were more like Triss; however, he hadn't met too many other mages who cared about common people and put aside their desire for power in order to help. 

"They assumed the bards had accumulated debts that needed to be paid, and another source claimed the client who organized the bounties was just looking for a bard to write a song." 

"The same lie they used with us." 

"Yes. But last week, a member of the Brotherhood discovered two of the bards outside Nastog."

"Alive and still singing, I'm sure," Jaskier cut in with a hopeful grin. Triss tried the best to hide her sadness, but it overtook her eyes and soon her mouth turned into a regrettable frown. Geralt's heart sank as Jaskier's hope and smile faded away into grief. His sweet smell turned sharply sour from the pain. 

"Dead," Geralt stated. Triss nodded, taking a moment to bow her head out of respect for those lost souls. 

"I was told that," she paused, glancing at Jaskier nervously, then turning her eyes on Geralt with a clear warning. "Their throats had been ripped apart. According to the autopsies, their vocal cords had exploded from the inside." Geralt shut his eyes at the news. 

"Sweet Melitele. That's horrible," Jaskier exclaimed, reaching up to rub at his throat. His eyes filled with terror, and the sour smell grew worse as it twisted into fear. Geralt tried his best not to look disgusted as the smell hit him. He hated the look on Jaskier's face, hated that he couldn't say or do anything to calm the bard's worries. He didn't know enough yet, and he could hear the Triss’ rushing heartbeat. There was something she wasn't telling them. Something she was trying to avoid. Yennefer finally joined them again, carrying a large, leather book. She dropped it on the table in front of them. The cover was covered with dirt and had faded so much that Geralt couldn't read the title. The book didn't look like it had been opened in centuries.

"Where did you ge–" 

"Don't ask questions," Yennefer cut Triss off, giving her a pointed look as she opened the book and flipped through the yellowed pages. Jaskier stepped over to the table, glancing down at the book as Yennefer looked through it. She paused for a moment to look at him, but she didn't tell him to move away or to stop hovering. Rather she stared at him with a pained expression. She knew something. Something bad. 

"What did they want with the bards?" Geralt asked, staring at Triss as she avoided his eyes. Instead, she kept her attention on Yennefer. The sorceress simply returned to her book, flipping through a few more pages and ignoring Geralt’s question. 

"Tell me."

"We're not sure." 

"Bullshit, you know something." 

"We're making an educated guess," Yennefer replied, pausing on one of the pages. Neither of them would look at him because neither wanted to be the bearer of bad news. Geralt rolled back his shoulders, opening his mouth to snap at them, but Jaskier beat him to it. Though in a very different way. 

"Yennefer," Jaskier said. He had never said her name so gently. "Please, why did they take my friends?"

"There's a prophecy," Triss declared, unable to resist any longer. Geralt understood. Jaskier’s voice had been so soft, so innocent and sweet. How could one deny his question? 

"A prophecy that's stupid to believe in," Yennefer snapped, giving Triss a disappointed look, but Triss’ attention had shifted to Jaskier. She stared at the bard with such pain in her eyes. Geralt didn’t like it. 

"An old, old prophecy that I've only heard of in passing," she went on, ignoring Yennefer's noise of displeasure. 

"About what?" Geralt asked. 

"It's just a rumor," she insisted.

"About what, Triss?" Geralt snapped, losing his patience with them beating around the bush. Triss glanced at Yennefer, her eyes searching for something on the other mage's face. Geralt watched the silent debate between them before finally Yennefer nodded and Triss let out a heavy sigh. 

"About Czarujący Głos Chaosu," Yennefer muttered. 

"I'm sorry what?" Jaskier piped up in confusion. 

"It means Chao's Enchanting Voice," Geralt translated for him. 

"What's that?" 

"From what I remember," Triss said, shaking her head in disbelief, "the prophecy foretold of a voice with the power to enchant anyone who hears it. Once placed under the trance, they would obey the singer's commands."

"Like a siren," Jaskier wondered, tilting his head as he tried to figure it out. Geralt crossed his arms over his chest as he listened, a terrible feeling building up in his stomach at each word. It'd been years since he dealt with a prophecy, and the events of his last run–in still haunted him to this day. 

"Except without the need to eat people," Yennefer commented, turning back to the book and flipping through the pages. She paused at one, running her finger down it slowly as she searched for what she was looking for. Jaskier watched her, peeking over her shoulder at every new page. 

"And with fewer limitations," Triss added. 

"But why?" Geralt wondered. "Why bother with all this? Even if a bard could enchant a person, what good would that do?" 

"It's not just a single person," Yennefer argued. "As Triss said, there are no limitations. Anyone who heard the bard's song would be placed under their spell." 

"So?" 

"That's what I told Triss." 

"Because neither one of you have spent enough time at court," Triss replied. "You don't understand how useful it would be to have a bard with this amount of power. You can find a bard anywhere. At court. In a tavern. On the street. And none of us would ever look at them twice. None of us would ever suspect a bard has the power to do anything dangerous or evil. Some of the best assassins in the world are the ones who were able to blend in with the musicians, yet we still overlook them. Imagine the power, the chaos if a bard had the power to enchant every last person at court with a single song? They could have an entire kingdom's on their knees within hours."

"They could enchant a whole town full of people to fight for them. Men. Women. Children even," Yennefer added, her eyes widening as the shock took hold.

"Turn armies against themselves," Geralt muttered. "Start wars. Get people to sign treaties. There are endless possibilities."

"And they'd be almost impossible to track. Unlike a siren or other monsters, they'd look human. And we don't even know if your powers would be able to track them because essentially they'd still be human," Triss went on.

"The ultimate weapon. They'd be able to take control from the inside."

"Fuck, people would invite them in with opened arms." 

"Is the bard born with this magical voice?" Geralt asked. He hoped the answer was yes because Jaskier had never enchanted anyone with his voice. At least not in the same way they were describing it. A small voice in Geralt's head pointed out that he himself enjoyed Jaskier's singing, and missed hearing it after so long. He quickly killed that voice. Now was not the time.

"We don't know for sure," Triss admitted. 

"You don't know?" 

"I've only heard of the prophecy. I've never read it myself," Triss replied, "but Yennefer is looking for the full text." 

"Looking. Not finding much," Yennefer confessed as she aggressively flipped through the next couple pages in the book. "None of these pages have titles, or the pages are ripped. It’d be better if I knew more about what I was looking for. If we knew anything about the fraction." 

"The fraction?" 

"A group of mages who broke away from the Brotherhood. They got involved in darker forms of magic and the Brotherhood have been trying to hunt them down ever since. Triss believes they're the ones behind all this," she explained. 

"They call themselves the Chao's Cabal Listeners," Triss added. Yennefer rolled her eyes at the name. Geralt made a face. That was a stupid name, but evil mages always had stupid names.

"Jaskier, were you in Nastrog within the last four months?" 

"I was. I stopped for a few days before heading north to Rusak."

"Did you talk to anyone while you were there?" 

"I did much more than just talk to several people," Jaskier replied, chuckling a bit as he tried to lighten the mood. Sadly, no one, not even Yennefer saw any humor in the situation. Triss sighed, stepping over to help Yennefer scan the pages of the book. 

"There was an odd meeting," Jaskier confessed, turning to look at Geralt with a strange look in his eyes. "A woman approached me after I performed one night, asking a series of questions." 

"What kind of questions?" 

"Innocent ones at first. Where I was from. Where else I had travelled. Who else I had performed for. She was interested in hearing about my time at court and wanted to know more about my adventures with Geralt. Very interested actually." 

"But you said the meeting was odd?" 

"She started asking about my birth. If there was anything strange about it. Anything unusual that my parents told me about. I told her that everything surrounding by birth, and conception, was perfectly normal. She seemed disappointed to hear that." 

"That is odd," Triss agreed, though Yennefer didn’t look as confused by Jaskier’s words. 

"What did this woman look like?" Geralt wondered. 

"Brown hair. Very lovely brown eyes–" 

"Was there anything that made her stand out?" Geralt cut him off. He didn't need to hear anything else about her eyes, or worse, her breasts and ass. He knew how Jaskier loved to wax poetry about the people who caught his eye. He spent two hours talking about a farmhand once. Geralt had nearly tossed him into the swamp after hearing him go on and on about the man's strong calves. 

"Not that I can...." he trailed off. Geralt raised an eyebrow, but he didn't press the bard. Not yet. Not until Jaskier's eyes widened. 

"She had a pin on her cloak. It was small, but I noticed it when she left. It was silver and shaped like a lute but the soundboard, the bottom part was shaped like a skull." 

"Wait," Yennefer declared. "A lute with a skull." 

"That's what I–" 

She rapidly flipped through the pages, the sound brushing away the rest of Jaskier's words. Suddenly, she stopped at a page and turned the book towards Jaskier. 

"Like this?" 

Geralt took a few steps to the right to see the page. The bottom was missing, but at the top was the image of a lute just as Jaskier had described. The neck looked like Jaskier's own instrument, but the bottom was shaped like a human skull with the bridge sitting on the bottom set of teeth. 

"Exactly like that," Jaskier confirmed. "You wouldn't even be able to play a lute shaped like that. It wouldn't work right." 

Yennefer and Triss bent over the book, their fingers running along the page as they read the passage below the image. When they finished, their eyes went to Jaskier. Yennefer looked enraged while Triss’s pain turned into deep sorrow. 

"What does it say?" Geralt demanded. 

"Read it yourself," Yennefer suggested, stepping out of the way. Geralt took her place. He expected Triss to step back and let Jaskier read it until he saw the words weren't written in common. 

_"Destruction can come in an innocent package,_

_If one is willing to take on this challenge._

_Find the one known for their fame,_

_And quickly lay a mighty claim._

_With blue eyes and brown hair,_

_There is only one voice so rare._

_So powerful that they may,_

_Through blood and magic and pain sway_

_The hearts and souls of monsters and men._

_Enchanting them again and again._

_With this single bard call,_

_All the kingdoms will soon fall._

_On their knees, they will plea,_

_Begging to be set free._

_But darkness will rise from the shadows,_

_Claiming their soul for the gallows._

_Sing the song of...."_

Blue eyes. Brown hair. A bard. 

Fuck. Even with half the page missing the prophecy was very clear. It even rhymed. Geralt glanced over at Jaskier. Sparkling blue eyes stared back at him. The bard bit his lip, trying his best, but still failing to keep his worry off his face. Even if Geralt couldn't see it in his eyes, he could smell it on him. Jaskier reeked of it now. 

"So all the bards had..?" Geralt asked softly, turning away. He couldn't look at Jaskier’s sad eyes any longer.

"Blue eyes. Brown hair," Triss confirmed. "And a large amount of fame."

"But they weren't the right bard. The ritual didn't work. Instead, it tore them apart."

"Clearly." 

"Was Stregobor there when you went to the Brotherhood asking questions about this?"

"No. I made sure of it. But it's only a matter of time before news of this reaches him. There are members of the Brotherhood who are familiar with this prophecy. If we can put all the clues together, so can they." 

"And we all know what the Brotherhood does to people who could fulfill, potentially, a prophecy," Yennefer grumbled, looking as if she sucked on a lemon. Choa swirled within her eyes. 

"I don't," Jaskier piped up. Geralt shut his eyes, wishing Jaskier had kept his mouth shut for once. 

"Would you like me to tell you?" Yennefer offered, turning on him. Geralt could hear the cruelty in her words. 

"Don't," he ordered. That was the last thing they needed. 

"I want to know," Jaskier insisted. 

"You don't."

"Let me tell him." 

"Yennefer." 

"He should know what they could do to him. What they will do when they find out." 

"A prophecy is just words on a page. It won't come true. It's not possible for someone to have such power," Geralt argued. 

“That didn’t stop them before. It won’t stop them now,” Yennefer snapped. 

Her anger was not at him, nor at Jaskier. It was the Brotherhood who brought forth her wrath. At one time, she had trusted them, bought into the idea that their goal was to help the Continent before she uncovered the truth of their greed and power hunger. But she couldn’t unleash her anger on them. Rather she would take it out on those closest. On the easier target in the room. Just like on the mountain, when Geralt’s anger at the world, at his shitty situation, had spilled over onto Jaskier. 

“Before?” 

“Jaskier–” 

“Don’t you know the Curse of the Black Sun, bard?” Yennefer asked. “I thought everyone knew of that tale. Sixty women wearing gold crowns, each born during or after the solar eclipse, would bring about the destruction of the human race.” 

“I’ve heard of it.” 

“Then you’ve heard of what they did to those girls. How they locked them away in towers until they died.” 

“Those are only rumors,” Jaskier argued, standing his ground even as Yennefer’s eyes pierced his soul. Always brave in the face of chaos and danger. “Myths about lost princesses trapped in a magical sleep. Fairytales.” 

“Because the truth is so much worse.” 

"Yen, stop," Triss begged, but the sorceress refused. 

“The Brotherhood hunted down and killed them, but not before splitting them open to see what was on the inside,” Yennefer retold the tale, her voice dripping with venom. Jaskier took a step back as his face filled with terror. “When it became hard to know which girl was the right one, they started locking them in towers. They wanted to see what would happen. Some died young, and the Brotherhood opened up their bodies to study. They didn’t even get a proper burial. Treated like nothing more than monsters. A few escaped their cages, grew stronger than the Brotherhood predicted, but they were also hunted down and killed until only one was left. Do you know what happened to her, Jaskier? Do you know what they did to Renfri?” 

Jaskier nodded, lowering his eyes to the floor. Yennefer’s purple eyes turned on Geralt, the look of outrage growing on her face. She knew the part Geralt played in Renfri’s death, and even though Geralt never wanted to kill the girl, even though her death haunted his thoughts, he still landed the final blow. Yennefer knew about Gearlt’s guilt and regret, but she still partially blamed him for giving in to the Brotherhood’s tricks. Geralt understood. He still blamed himself. He tried to keep the memories at bay, but they swelled inside his mind until he couldn’t ignore them any longer. 

Renfri’s young face covered in blood. The look of understanding in her eyes as Geralt cradled her body. Her final words about his own destiny. Geralt had watched as the light dimmed behind her eyes, as she accepted death. When he finally looked up and saw the street littered with bodies cut down by his own sword, when the townspeople came out smelling of fear with stones in their hands, Geralt accepted the title of Butcher. What else could he be besides the nightmare in their stories? Renfri had never been able to be anything else. Why should he be any different? 

He tried to blame it on her. If she had just listened to him, if she had taken his advice and left the city, she could have avoided death, but she didn’t listen. She forced his hand when she attacked innocent people when she became the monster they believed her to be. But that wasn’t fair. Not completely. Renfri never had a choice. She was deemed a threat, a monster, the moment she was born. Her father had tried to protect her. He refused to believe in the stupid prophecy, but the Brotherhood had weaselled their way in. 

It was Geralt’s fault. He should have tried harder. If he had done things differently, if he had tried just a little bit harder to talk to her, maybe he could have convinced her. Maybe he could have gotten her to take a different path. Maybe she would still be alive. But he would never know. The guilt, the anger, the unfairness weigh heavy on Geralt’s soul. Regret. The one emotion he was very familiar with. For years, the regret pulled him down. His heart grew cold, and he drew away from humans, spending more and more time in the forest unless it was absolutely to travel into town for a contract or food. He’d become resigned to his fate. He let the rumors his emotionlessness grow. Gave into every Witcher stories. There was no point in trying to be anything else.

Unlike Jaskier, who burst into his life like a beam of sunlight and turned everything on its head with his songs. Nearly eight months ago, Jaskier had asked him to take a different path. He suggested they go to the coast, asked Geralt what pleased him, and instead of taking the offer, instead of accepting that he could be more, Geralt pushed Jaskier away. He fell into the same trap Renfri had died from. 

"Congratulations, Jaskier," Yennefer announced, turning back to the book on the table. Her voice still sounded harsh to anyone who didn’t know her, but Geralt could hear the pain behind her words. "You’re useful after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to reblog this story on tumblr, or talk to me about the story, you can find me [@holdthesewords](https://holdthesewords.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Special thanks to [Abagel ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagel/pseuds/Abagel) for helping me get through this chapter. Chapter Three is already well on it's way and I hope to get it out within two weeks. 
> 
> Kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments are always adored!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! Last chapter, I was terrified about writing Yennefer, but I'm so glad to see that people liked it!
> 
> Honestly, this chapter....this chapter was even tougher than Chapter 2! I rewrote the last ten pages at least five or six times to get it right. Writing is rewriting, but it can be really draining when a scene isn't capturing the write emotions you want. I hope it turned out alright!
> 
> I'm excited to see what you all think of this one! The plot thickens. The drama grows. And there is still so much more to come!

For a long moment, no one said a word or moved. Yennefer’s outburst left them all frozen. Jaskier kept his eyes on the ground, fidgeting with his hands nervously as the tension in the room grew with each passing second. The silence was suffocating. Triss opened and shut her mouth, looking helpless. She glanced between Yennefer and Jaskier, unsure which one needed her more. Yennefer stared at the book on the table, refusing to meet Geralt’s eyes. The way her shoulders started to sag, how her scent changed from sour gooseberries to overly ripe, told Geralt she regretted her words. She wouldn’t admit it. At least not yet. She refused to show any weakness.

Geralt himself wasn’t sure what to do. His throat was filled with angry words towards Yennefer, but he knew well enough to keep them to himself. Nothing he said could ease Jaskier’s fears. This was not the type of situation he was trained to handle, nor one he enjoyed. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the wall, debating what course of action would cause the least destruction.

Suddenly, the tension broke as Jaskier moved towards the door, fleeing the situation. Geralt didn’t stop him. Didn’t even try to call him back. He only watched as the bard slipped out of the room, listening to his footsteps climbing the stairs. Once the bedroom door closed, he turned on Yennefer with a scowl.

"That was uncalled for," he stated.

"It's the truth," Yennefer argued. Her voice lacked any venom. She let out a heavy sigh as she raised her head to stare at Jaskier's abandoned lute. "Just because you don't want to hear it, Witcher, doesn't mean he shouldn't." She only called him Witcher when she was annoyed with his attitude, but it never bothered him. Not in the way she wanted it to.

"Jaskier’s not the bard from the prophecy."

"We both know it doesn't matter to the Brotherhood. They'll still kill him. They'll hunt down every last bard and musician with brown hair and blue eyes just to make sure. Countless innocent people will die so the Brotherhood can boast about how they saved the Continent from yet another threat."

"What can we do?" Triss asked.

"Nothing. There's nothing we can do," Yennefer declared, sending one of the books flying off the table. Triss watched sadly as it fell to the ground with heavy thud. Geralt shut his eyes, squeezing his nose in frustration at Yennefer's dramatics. She could be just as bad as Jaskier sometimes. They could be great friends if Jaskier could get past their differences.

"There is no place on this Continent where the Brotherhood can't reach him,” Yennefer declared. “Unless he wants to run for the rest of his life, he has to accept that his fate is to die."

"I won't let either of those things happen to him," Geralt growled.

"What are you going to do? Take on the Brotherhood yourself? The only reason Stregobor let you live the last time was to make himself seem merciful. He won't let you stand in his way again," Yennefer warned. She looked angry and wild, but Geralt saw the fear behind her eyes. She didn't want the Brotherhood to get Jaskier just as much as Geralt, but she didn't see any other option. What else could they do?

"Fuck Stregobor and fuck the Brotherhood."

"I wholeheartedly agree, but we can't stop them ourselves."

"Maybe we can find a place for Jaskier to hide," Triss suggested, scanning the table full of books. She reached over and grabbed a small one wrapped in blue colored leather, flipping it opened to a map of the Continent.

"There has to be someplace the Brotherhood won't think to look. A place Jaskier can live where he'll be safe." Yennefer and Geralt shared a knowing look. They already knew such a place didn't exist, but Triss still had some hope left.

"What about in the North? In Kovir or Poviss?" Triss offered. She pointed to the location on the map and glanced towards Yennefer and Geralt for their opinions.

"The Kovirian court is loyal to Stregobor," Yennefer sneered. "The King would comb through the landscape looking for Jaskier if the Brotherhood gave the order. Which means anywhere in Poviss is also out of the question." Geralt scanned the map.

"He could be safe in Cintra," he muttered. "They've abandoned the use of mages and Queen Calanthe would never agree to help the Brotherhood." Queen Calanthe had no tender feelings towards Geralt herself, and would sooner throw him off a wall then let him anywhere near her castle or her granddaughter, his child surprise, but the kingdom could be a safe haven for Jaskier. Geralt might even be able to convince the Queen to take the bard on the promise he won’t claim the child for another seven years or so.

"It's not just the Brotherhood we need to worry about," Yennefer reminded them.

"Chao's Cabal Listeners are also looking for him, and they won't ask for permission. They'll hunt him down any way possible. The Brotherhood will do the same. They'll just lie about it better."

"We have to figure something out," Geralt muttered, glancing over at Jaskier's lute. He couldn’t lose him. He wouldn’t be able to take it. Not after everything. He couldn’t fail again.

"There is a way to hide him," Yennefer pointed out. Geralt turned to her, noticing how pained her expression had become. "Jaskier could stop being a bard."

"He'd never agree to that," Triss protested in horror.

"If it saves his life he might," she argued.

Geralt wasn't so sure about that.

Jaskier was dedicated to his craft. Asking him to give up music was like asking a fish to give up water. Or a bird to give up flying. Or a Witcher to give up hunting monsters. Jaskier wouldn't be Jaskier without music and singing and performing for a crowd. Geralt wasn't sure he could ask Jaskier to do that. He ignored the rest of the mage's conversation, turning his attention towards the second floor. He listened for Jaskier, curious about what the bard was up to. He could hear the bard's steady heartbeat, but his sweetness was still rotten with fear. Geralt wanted to go up there, wanted to knock on Jaskier's door and promise that things were going to be okay. But he'd be lying.

His promises would be based on nothing but false hope. Jaskier would start to feel safe, lured into a fake sense of security only for the world to come crashing down around him when the Brotherhood or the Listeners came to retrieve him. Geralt would protect him. He knew he would, but there were limitations to his gifts. There was only so much he could do against countless mages. They could keep moving, bounce from town to town, but any news of their travels would alert Jaskier's hunters to their location. They wouldn't be able to outrun them forever.

"I'm going to check on Jaskier," Triss announced, glaring at Yennefer as she stormed out of the room. Her usual calm, fresh rain smell had turned into a raging storm. Her anger electrified the air. Geralt listened as a door opened and closed, then turned to Yennefer in confusion. He must have missed something during their conversation.

"She doesn't understand," Yennefer claimed, shaking her head as she turned back to the table.  
"She still believes other members of the Brotherhood will do the right thing. That she'll be able to convince them to leave Jaskier alone."

"She does the right thing," Geralt argued.

"I know that. She always has and she always will. But she's only one person, and she's the minority."

Sadly, Geralt knew she was right. He'd met quite a few members of the Brotherhood throughout his life, and none of them have been known for their leniency. He could only assume that others in the organization acted the same way. Triss was an exemption to the rule rather than a standard. Convincing them to give Jaskier a chance, to see beyond the prophecy would be an impossible battle to win. Geralt and the others saw Jaskier as a person, a bard who simply wanted to entertain the masses, but the Brotherhood would only see a weapon. A threat that needed to be curbed before it could cause any trouble. There would be no mercy, no second chance, no escaping.

"Have you been able to apologize to Jaskier?" Yennefer wondered, shifting the conversation away from Jaskier’s impending doom. Her question sounded oh so very innocent, but Geralt knew she wanted to hear each and every detail.

"I have," he answered, refusing to give her what she wanted so easily. She’d have to work for it if she wanted more. 

"And?"

"And what?"

"You know what. Don't pretend like you're stupid."

"I'm not."

"Did he forgive you?"

"He did," Geralt admitted. That had been an important part. "A little too quickly for my liking."

"Oh? You'd rather he stay mad at you?" she asked, tilting her head to one side as she stared at him. Geralt shrugged. He wasn't sure how to explain it, but he was going to try. He trusted Yennefer, and maybe she’d understand. 

"I'd rather he have more respect for himself. I don't want him to forgive me easily because he feels like he has to. I want to earn his forgiveness."

"Because you care about him."

Geralt made a face at her statement. Yennefer only gave him a knowing smile as a reply.

"Yes," he finally confessed.

Something inside him unfolded, pleased by his acceptance. Of course Geralt cared about Jaskier. He might not have at first when the bard crossed the tavern and sat down at his table without an invitation, but after seven years of travelling together and countless adventures, Geralt allowed Jaskier to carved a place for himself in Geralt's life. During Pavetta’s betrothal banquet, before the stupid mess with the Law of Surprise, Geralt had been concerned for Jaskier's safety. Concerned and annoyed by all the stories of Jaskier's former conquests. 

When the djinn attack, Geralt's concern for Jaskier grew to new heights. Yennefer had distracted him from his feelings, giving him a new outlet like never before, but it hadn't taken long before Geralt's mind turned back to Jaskier. After everything, all the misadventures and wild events, Geralt cared deeply for Jaskier, and he knew he'd do whatever it takes to keep the bard safe from the Brotherhood or the Listeners. He just hoped it would be enough.

"You _really_ care about him," Yennefer said, her smiling softening around the edges. Geralt shrugged. He didn't feel any need to confirm his feelings again.

"You lo–"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught their attention. He turned towards the door as Triss and Jaskier reappeared.

"Do you have more food?" Triss asked, a teasing smile on her face. "Jaskier's stomach is singing to me."

"It is not," Jaskier protested, hovering in the doorway. He gave Yennefer a nervous look, debating if he needed to give her space or if he was allowed back into the room as he shifted from one foot to the other. The small grin she offered thankfully convinced Jaskier he was welcomed. Jaskier walked over to stand by Geralt’s side, gracing him with a small nod with a gentle smile. Geralt nodded back, his words failing him again as a strange feeling spread through him. Having Jaskier by his side was like a puzzle piece sliding into place. A perfect fit. Why hadn’t Geralt noticed that before?

"Triss, can you help me clear the table?" Yennefer asked, closing some of the books and moving them aside. Triss stared at Yennefer with a longing look, but when Yennefer glanced her way it disappeared. The mages got to work, closing and stacking the books to create room on the table. Once there was a big enough space, a platter of food appeared. Jaskier's stomach let out a loud noise at the sight. The bard quickly covered it with an embarrassed look as he moved over to snag a piece of bread from the platter.

"You should have eaten more at breakfast like I told you to," Geralt said, feeling like a mother hen. Jaskier didn't reply. Instead, his attention drifted to the remaining book on the table. He reached out and ran his fingers over the page with the prophecy. He slowly traced the bottom of the torn page then did the same with the image of a lute. Geralt watched his lips move as his fingers traced the words. Jaskier started to grow puzzled, his fingers move over the same few words again and again.

“My Elder Speech isn’t that good,” he confessed softly. “I can only make out a few words here and there. Will you read the rest to me?” 

He looked over at Geralt, and for once his eyes were unreadable. Geralt couldn’t see behind them, couldn’t figure out what Jaskier was thinking. He hesitated, unsure about fulfilling such a request. They'd given Jaskier the details about what it said, how the voice could enchant people and the traits of the bard, but they hadn't read it word for word. He could tell that Yennefer's previous words were still weighing Jaskier down. His scent still held a hint of fear. Geralt didn't want the full text of the prophecy to worry Jaskier more.

“That’s not–"

"Please? I want to know what it says. I want to know...." The way he trailed off didn’t help the request.

"Jaskier–"

"I'll read it," Yennefer offered. Geralt gave her a hard look, but she stood her ground.

"I'll do it," Geralt finally agreed, moving closer to the book again. His shoulder bumped against Jaskier. Purely by accident. Jaskier shot him a tiny grin, bumping back before his eyes went down to the words on the page. His smile slowly disappeared. Geralt stared at him for a moment, opening his mouth to say something encouraging, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t know how to help, didn’t know how to ease any of Jaskier’s worries. He had more questions than answers himself. Geralt quickly shifted his attention to the prophecy before Jaskier could catch his eyes. Geralt recited the prophecy one line at a time, tracing each word to help Jaskier follow along. He watched the bard out of the corner of his eye the entire time. Waiting for a reaction. Worried about his friend.

“I don’t think this is about me,” Jaskier muttered when Geralt finished the last line.

“Why?”

“I’ve never been innocent in my life,” he declared, throwing a wink towards Geralt. Geralt rolled his eyes, well aware that this was one of Jaskier's nervous habits. If he made jokes while things were going bad, then they didn't seem as terrible. It never helped him, not in the long term. It just gave him a distraction for a few seconds. Inside, he was relieved that Jaskier was able to find humor in the situation. It was probably a coping strategy, but Geralt didn’t dwell too long on that idea. He wanted to cling to the normality of Jaskier’s jokes. It soothed some of his worries. 

“And I wouldn’t say that I’m known for my fame. Besides the eye and hair color, this could easily be about someone else.”

Geralt almost protested, almost assured Jaskier that he _was_ known for his fame. That his songs were sung in every tavern Geralt had visited. Quite a few people, more than Geralt had ever expected, had asked about Jaskier, not including the bounty hunters. He’d performed in countless courts, and Geralt knew about his time at Oxenfurt Academy. But he didn’t bring that up. He didn’t want Jaskier to be the bard in the prophecy. He wanted it to be anyone else. Let Jaskier be safe. Don’t let history repeat itself.

“It could be,” Geralt agreed instead. “There are hundreds of other people who fit this description.”

“Maybe more,” Jaskier pointed out, reaching out to run his fingers over the tear again, “but part of the page is missing. Maybe it had more clues?”

“More clues, and the instructions for the ritual,” Triss said, moving around the table to stand across from Jaskier. “It clearly hints that something needs to be done to unlock the power, but we don’t have any idea what that is. The Brotherhood probably has another copy of the prophecy. Maybe I should go get it.”

“You shouldn’t go back,” Yennefer sharply protested. Geralt noticed how she took up position next to Triss, hovering by her friend's side. Except for the looks they've been sharing hinted to something else. Something Geralt has seen before. "You should avoid going back to the Brotherhood until this dies down."

“But sometimes prophecies include a way to stop the event from occurring. If we had the rest we’d have all the clues we need to figure it out.”

"We can figure it out on our own.”

"No, we can’t. Without the rest of the prophecy, we’ll never know for sure if we’re on the right track.”

“There's a small chance the Brotherhood hasn’t figured everything out yet. If you go back there, you could be leading them straight to it," Yennefer countered. Geralt and Jaskier looked between the two mages as they talked. The air became thick with magic as their emotions grew. Jaskier moved closer to Geralt, glancing at him nervously before shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confessed, giving Triss a pleading look. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt because of this.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Triss promised. She offered him a soft smile, reaching across the table towards him. Jaskier took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You can’t promise that,” Yennefer scoffed. Triss’ smile faded as she turned back towards her friend.

“Listen, Yen, I know you’re upset with–”

“Shhh,” Yennefer snapped, holding up a finger as she turned towards the door. Her eyes narrowed. Triss followed Yennefer’s gaze, tilting her head in confusion.

"Yen, what–" Triss paused as her eyes widened in realization. The hair on the back of Geralt’s neck stood up. His medallion hummed against his chest just before he felt a surge of magic coming from the hallway. 

"What's wrong?" Jaskier wondered, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Geralt," Yennefer muttered. "Get ready to run." 

"What? Wh–" Jaskier tried to ask. 

"No one needs to run," a new voice declared. Geralt grabbed Jaskier's arm, pulling him away from the table and shoving him towards the farthest wall. He turned back towards the door, placing himself in front of Jaskier as an unfamiliar woman walked into the room. Her dark brown hair was pulled back behind her head, and she wore a long elegant green dress. Geralt sensed the magic gathered around her. Another mage. Great. Just what they fucking needed. He pushed Jaskier further back towards the wall, trying his best to shield Jaskier from the woman's eyes. She slowly scanned the room, inspecting every last little detail before her green eyes landed on Yennefer.

"Impressive," she praised, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a smile. "Much better than the last time I visited."

"I don't remember inviting you before. Or now," Yennefer replied. "Have you come to offer me another chance at redemption? Is this another one of your stupid attempts to get me to fall in line?" She didn't even try to hide the venom in her tone. The other woman didn't seem affected as she stepped towards the table. Neither Triss, nor Yennefer moved to stop her. Geralt stretched his hand, debating if he should reach for his weapon now or wait to see who would make the first move.

"I wish that was the case," the woman answered, running her finger along the table's edge, "but the Brotherhood has decided you're a lost cause. You could have been so much more, could have created a legacy with your talents, but you've chosen your path, and I know that no matter what I say you won't listen to my advice."

"And who's fault is that?" Yennefer hissed.

"I did nothing to you. You can't keep blaming everyone else and the world for the choice you made."

"I can and I will!"

"You want everything, but you will end up with nothing if you don't change course."

"You're just scared because I refuse to give up trying. My ambition has always scared you."

"You have never scared me, Yennefer. Never."

"Clearly you've lost your touch. I've never heard such a weak lie," Yennefer growled, her lips lifting into a dark smile as the other woman stared at her. Geralt almost wanted to mention that the older woman hadn't been lying. That every single word she had said so far had been truthful, but Yennefer needed to work through this herself. It was not Geralt's job to protect her, nor fight her battles. He could see the pain in Yennefer's eyes, yearning towards the woman. A child wishing for their parent to be proud of them. In the same way, the older mage looked pained, cut down by their child's rejection. 

"Why are you here, Tissaia?" Triss asked, cutting between the two women's verbal sparring.

“I came to visit Yennefer. To check on how things are going. I didn’t expect you to have company. I’m not surprised to see you, Triss. You two were always close, but I am surprised that you’re here,” Tissaia smoothly replied, turning towards Geralt and looking him over. “I wasn’t aware that Yennefer spent time with Witchers. And lowly bards.” Geralt heard her heartbeat skip for the first time.

"You're lying," he growled. She knew about him. Probably knew they were here. Jaskier tried to peek around him, tried to get a look at the new mage. Geralt nudged him back, glancing over his shoulder in warning. Jaskier pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. Tissaia's eyes shifted to the bard. Geralt glared, advising her to look away without saying a word, but Tissaia wasn't frightened by him. Or at least she didn't show it.

“Jaskier,” she said. Geralt’s blood went cold. How did she know Jaskier’s name? What did she really want? “I’ve heard quite a few stories about you.”

“Really?” Jaskier asked, peeking around again despite Geralt’s wordless warning.

“You’re rather popular among the mages at court,” Tissaia answered. One side of her mouth moved up into a smile.

“What do you want?” Geralt growled, using his arm to push Jaskier back behind him.

“I already said that I’m here to–”

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Geralt snapped.

“If you’re here to kill him,” Yennefer warned, moving around the table to stand in front of Geralt, “I’d advised against it. Geralt can be rather protective of his bard.”

"I'm not here to kill him," Tissaia assured them. Triss glanced at Geralt. He shook his head. Surprisingly, that wasn't a lie.

"Then what do you want? Stop dragging it out and just tell us. Spare us all the mystery and suspense.”

“Why would you assume I want to kill him?” Tissaia wondered, placing her hands in front of her innocently.

“She doesn’t seem like much of a threat,” Jaskier muttered lowly. Tissaia’s smile grew. As did Geralt’s scowl.

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look,” Yennefer snapped. The air around them turned hot and heavy as her magic started to concentrate on her fingers. “If you won’t tell us, then leave.”

“Tissaia, please. We don’t want to fight you,” Triss begged, trying a very different approach. Tissaia looked between her students, then turned towards the table. She reached out, running her fingers over the prophecy the same way Jaskier had before.

“This is what’s gotten you all so worked up,” she said, glancing between all of them one by one. “The Brotherhood doesn’t plan on killing any bards.” Her words did nothing to ease Geralt’s concerns. Again, Jaskier stepped around to look at the mage. This time, he refused to move back, grabbing Geralt’s arm instead as he stared at Tissaia. A strange look flashed across the mage’s face. It wasn’t there long, but Geralt still had enough time to see it and understand that Tissaia’s eyes held pity and shame.

“What do they plan to do instead?” Geralt pressed. Tissaia pressed her lips together for a moment before turning back to the book.

"There is another prophecy,” she declared. “One that claims a bard will bring peace and unity to the kingdoms through their enchanting song. Light will return to the world, chasing away monsters and evil."

"Peace and unity?" Triss echoed in confusion. That still didn't explain what the Brotherhood want–Fuck. Realization hit Geralt like a blow to the gut. Tissaia wasn’t here for a visit, nor was she here to kill Jaskier. It was something much worse.

"Fucking hypocrites," he snapped, rage building up inside him. "You want to use the bard's powers for yourselves!"

Yennefer and Triss’ eyes widened at his outburst, the pieces falling into place. Tissaia didn’t deny it. She only raised her head to look down her nose at him.

"Leave Tissaia. Before I make you," Yennefer threatened, stepping towards her. 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Trissaia insisted. “Allow me to decide if Jaskier is the one the prophecy speaks of, if he will be the one to enchant the kingdoms, and then I’ll be on my way.”

"I'd like to think my voice is already able to enchant kingdoms," Jaskier joked. Now was really not the time for such things. Geralt wasn't in the mood to humor him right now. Not when they were facing down a powerful mage who wasn't going to leave quietly.

"Get back," Geralt snapped, pushing him back against the wall. "Don't make me tell you again."

"Rude," he pouted, but he stayed where Geralt put him.

"There could be countless bards who fit the description," Triss argued. "We have no way of knowing if Jaskier is the right one."

"I do," Tissaia coldly replies, reaching into her dress pocket and producing a large metal fork.

"What's that?" Jaskier asked. Geralt shoved him back yet again. For fuck's sake, why couldn't he just stay back for once in his life!

"It's a sounding fork," Tissaia explains when no one else provides him an answer. "It'd been kept in a vault within Aretuza for years. According to the writings of Franciszek, this fork can be used to locate the bard with the right voice. It’ll create a tone that only the bard can hear. We can answer this once and for all. If it's not him, I'll go."

"And if it is?" Yennefer hissed. "Will you drag him away to a golden cage? Chain him to the Brotherhood for the rest of his moral life? Use him until he’s done his job so you can dispose of him?"

"Yennefer–"

"It's not him," Geralt declared. He refused to believe the stupid prophecy. Refused to think that Jaskier would be able to possess such power. Because if he was the bard, if he could possess the power to enchant the Continent, then Geralt knew there was no way to protect him from the Brotherhood or the Listeners.

"Even if it is," Triss said, "we won't let you take him."

"We don't need to test him," Geralt protested. "It's not him. It can't be."

"I wholeheartedly agree with you," Jaskier said, reaching out to place a tender hand on his shoulder, "I've never been special in my life. Countless people have assured me of that. But if she tests me, then you’ll know for sure.”

"No."

“Geralt–”

“I said no!”

"Leave Tissaia. Now before I–"

Tissaia didn't let Yennefer finish. She lifted the tuning fork and struck it against the edge of the table. Geralt expected to hear....something. But even as the prongs of the fork vibrated he didn't hear a single thing. Yennefer and Triss also looked confused as they glanced at each other then back at the fork. It didn't work. Nothing was happening. Which meant–

"Make it stop!" Jaskier suddenly screamed. Geralt's heart fell into his stomach. Terror wrapped around his throat as he turned around to find Jaskier on his knees with his head in his hands. His face twisted in agony. His eyes filled with tears as he tried to bite back the pain. 

"It hurts!" he screamed. "Stop! Please! Geralt, make it stop! My head! It's going to explode! _Please!_"

Geralt looked back at the vibrating fork, his stomach heavy with dread as they all stared at Jaskier in shock. Triss recovered first. She moved around the table and grabbed the prongs, halting the vibration. Jaskier sank to the ground, rubbing at his forehead as he whimpered. Geralt almost dropped down at his side, wanting nothing more then to comfort the bard, but he couldn't. His body wouldn't move. His mind was frozen in shock and horror. Not Jaskier. It can't be. 

Fuck. 

Fuck! 

It wasn't fair! This wasn't fucking fair. Why him of all people? 

"That answers that," Tissaia muttered. Geralt eyes snapped to her. He thought she'd be pleased with the development. She found the bard the Brotherhood needed. The search was over, but instead Tissaia looked devastated. As if she didn't want to believe it either. 

"You can't take him," Yennefer declared, planting her feet and preparing for a fight. "I won't let you." Triss moved to stand at her side, giving Tissaia a dark look, one Geralt had never seen on her face before. Geralt reached down and pulled the dagger from his boot. It wasn't much, but it could mean everything if this turned into a battle. Tissaia looked torn. There was a war going on behind her eyes. Geralt hoped the right side would win. 

"The Brotherhood–"

"I don't give a fuck what the Brotherhood wants," Yennefer cut her off. "You can't take Jaskier. Not unless you go through us first." 

"We don't want to fight you," Triss confessed, "but we will. Jaskier is innocent, and the Brotherhood is overreaching their position. I won't stand for it. I can't. This isn't right." Tissaia looked between them, her face quickly going blank as she straightened her shoulders. She glanced at Geralt for a brief moment, then at Jaskier on the floor before her eyes returned to Yennefer's face. Geralt tightened his grip on the dagger, ready for the fight that he knew was about to happen. 

Then, surprisingly, Tissaia's shoulders sagged and she stepped back. 

"I can't," Tissaia whispered. 

"What?" 

"I can't," Tissaia repeated, nodding her head, "This isn't the right path. I can't support this plan. I won't support it. You don't have much time before someone else comes. The Council already voted and it's only a matter of time before the Brotherhood sends someone else to visit. I said I would because I never expected to find a bard with you. I only came to warn you about everything." 

"What plan?" Triss demanded. "What do they want to do?"

"As the Witcher said, as you've all figured out, the Brotherhood wishes to use the bard to control the kingdoms. They plan to take away people's free will. Use the kings and queens like pawns in a game. It's not....It's not what we're supposed to do. It goes against the rules, but they won't listen. There's so much trouble brewing across the land that they're getting desperate. They want a quick easy solution even if it goes against what we stand for." 

"I'm sure you protested very loudly against this idea," Yennefer muttered, her lips curling back. Tissaia looked pained at her words, but didn't argue. 

"Take the bard and run," she ordered, her eyes piercing into Geralt. "Hide in the mountains. Hide in the swamps. Just hide."

"Till when? Until the Brotherhood gives up? We know they won't. They didn't with Renfri," Geralt pointed out. 

"The first thing they'll do is look for this fork," Tissaia explained, holding it up. Jaskier flinched back. Geralt's heart ached at the sight. He looked so small and scared. Geralt hated it. "But they'll find that it's been misplaced in the vault. It will buy you some time. How much, I'm not sure. Maybe a year, maybe less. Our copy of the prophecy is also missing the final necessary piece." 

"Final piece?" Yennefer asked. 

"The song that the bard must sing to enchant their voice. It's been ripped out of our book." 

"It was ripped out of this one too," Triss admitted. Tissaia scowled, then sighed. 

"The Listeners. They must have the only copy left. Without it, the Brotherhood can't go through with their plan. I'll suggest they hunt down the Listeners first. That could also buy you some extra time, and will hopefully keep the others off your trail." 

"But you don't know how long." 

"No. And I won't make any promises," Tissaia replied. "The best thing Jaskier could do is destroy his lute and go into hiding for the rest of his life. But I doubt that's what he wants to do." 

"I don't think I have much of a choice," Jaskier muttered. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he stared at Geralt's boots. 

"We'll figure something out," Geralt promised, his body begging him to reach out towards the bard. Not yet. He couldn't yet. 

"I hope you do," Tissaia declared, grabbing his attention again.

"I really do." 

No skip. Her words were truthful. So maybe Triss was right. Maybe there were other members of the Brotherhood who wanted to do the right thing. Or at least didn't want the Brotherhood to have complete control over the Continent. 

"Time to leave," Yennefer said, walking over and grabbing Tissaia's arm. The older mage didn't fight or react as Yennefer dragged her out of the room. 

"Yen," Triss protested, following after them with a concerned look. 

"Did you know he was here?" Triss pleaded as soon as they were out of the room. 

"I didn't. I came to warn Yennefer about the Brotherhood's plans. I was aware she knew Jaskier,but I didn't expect to find the Witcher or the bard here," Tissaia confessed. 

"Then why did you have the fork?" 

"I took it before anyone else could. I'm well aware of what you think of me Yennefer, but there are some lines even I wouldn't cross. This is one of them. Triss is right. The bard is innocent and he doesn't deserve any of this. I wish it wasn't him. I truly do." 

"Suddenly you have a heart," Yennefer hissed. 

"So do you. Three years ago, you would have never protected a lowly bard. You wouldn't have cared, but you've grown. You've changed more within these three years than most people do in a lifetime. You're still growing," Tissaia praised, her voice soft and fond. She was trying to reach out to Yennefer, trying to bridge the gap. 

"I'm not soft," Yennefer said, though her voice has lost it's previous bite. She was unsure. Not quite ready to take Tissaia's offering, yet not fully rejecting it either. Caught at the impasse. 

"I didn't say you were. I know you're still searching for what you lost, yet you already seem to have a little family of your own. People who will fight by your side. There is nothing greater in life than those who love and protect you." 

"Leave," Yennefer ordered. Geralt felt another surge of magic. 

"Thank you," Triss said, "for helping us." 

"As I said, there is nothing greater in life," Tissaia replied. "But remember, both of you, sometimes a flower is just a flower. You may need to decide if you want him to suffer, or spare him the pain instead." Geralt's blood went cold at the older woman's words as he helped Jaskier over to the chair in the corner, placing a hand on the bard's upper back.

"We'll figure something out," he whispered. Jaskier nodded, but his stunk of fear and worry. Geralt sighed. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to help. He wished he did. He wished he could offer Jaskier some level of comfort instead of being useless. Fuck this must be how Jaskier feels sometimes. Unable to help. Stuck on the sidelines. Wishing for answers, for the skills necessary to help. 

"She's gone," Triss declared as Yennefer and her walked back into the room. 

"But not for long," Yennefer grumbled. "I don't believe she'll keep this to herself. Trissaia knows how to choose her battles. She never would have won against us, but she could if she returned with others." 

"I don't think she'll tell anyone," Triss protested. "I do think there are people in the Brotherhood who won't agree with this." 

"This is the ultimate power. A way to control the masses without them having to lift a single finger. Hell, I wouldn't mind having that kind of power myself."

"But–" Jaskier spoke up, but when they all turned towards him, he shrank back in his seat.

"But?" Triss pressed softly. 

"But I wouldn't help them. Even if this is all true and that wasn't some trick, I wouldn't help anyone take over kingdoms."

"They won't give you a choice, Jaskier. There are countless spells that could bind you to someone else's will. That could brainwash you. They only want to use your power. They don't care about you." 

"Well, thank you for that. I feel so much better about my future now. So much better," Jaskier snipped. "Fucking magic. Just bullshit." Geralt wanted to say he agreed, but Jaskier looked like a cat ready to strike. He didn't want to get into an argument right now. 

"You won't be able to stay here much longer," Yennefer pointed out, her eyes still wild. "I'll put a cloaking spell on the manor, but it won’t last forever. It will at least buy us some time to figure out where you should head next." 

"We could also cloak Jaskier when they leave," Triss suggested. "That'll prevent any mages from sensing him with magic, but it won't stop any common folk from seeing him." 

"It's the rumors that I'm concerned about," Geralt replied. "It's not hard to get people to talk. They'd point Jaskier out right away. He's been in nearly every town already. People know who he is." 

"I'd like to think that even in towns I haven't visited yet know of my reputation," Jaskier commented, sounding pleased with himself.

"I'm sure they've heard rumors of your wild adventures," Geralt agreed, "but that'll only make it more difficult to stay hidden." 

"We could always avoid the towns. Stay in the forest like we used to," he suggested instead. Geralt shook his head, almost letting out a chuckle at the very idea. As if that would work. Jaskier hated sleeping in the forest. All he ever did was complain about the bugs, or that his feet hurt, or that the ground was too hard to sleep on. 

"You can't survive three days without a bed." 

"I can to!" 

"You can't. You'll whine and complain until we have to find a town just to quench your stupid need for booze and company." 

"Well maybe if your company wasn't so horrible I wouldn't need other people," Jaskier shot back. His tone was teasing, but the words hit slightly too close to the belt. Geralt glared, pressing his lips together. 

"I'll be back," he grumbled, needing to put some distance between himself and Jaskier before his emotions got the best of him. He'd just apologized for his mistake months ago. He didn't want to suddenly make another one. Without another word, and without listening to Jaskier's loud protests, he left the room and climbed the stairs. Gearlt knew Jaskier wasn't trying to start an argument. Not really. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were, wanted some level of familiarity to distract him from everything that was going on, but Geralt couldn't do that right now. The prophecy kept bouncing around in his head alongside Renfri's dying face. History could easily repeat itself if Geralt didn't come up with a plan.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom, crossing the room and reaching for his swords. He paused, Renfri's golden brooch stared back at him like a omen. It taunted him, reminding him of what happened the last time he interfered in the affairs of men. This wasn't his fight. He shouldn't get involved, shouldn't stand in between two sides again and claim to be neutral. They would force him to decide, force him one way, and it would only lead to his own pain. 

"Fuck," he soft cursed, pulling his hand back as he warred with himself. His job was to kill monsters, not to protect bards or stop prophecies. He could walk away. He should walk away. Leave Jaskier in the care of Triss and disappear, but he couldn't. His body wouldn't move. His heart wouldn't let him. Jaskier had wormed his way so deep inside Geralt that it was impossible for him to leave. He hadn't felt the same way about Renfri. She'd been young, and the world had been so cruel to her. She was a product of other people's mistakes, but Jaskier wasn't. 

Jaskier was bright and optimistic and kind. Even when people threw things at him. When people insulted his songs or made fun of his lyrics, Jaskier never gave up. He didn't let the world twist him into something else, but if Geralt didn't do something, then other people would ruin him. Jaskier would end up like Renfri. Pushed to the edge. Forced to fight back. To become a monster in order to survive. Geralt refused to let that happen. 

It went against all his training, but this was his fight. He'd already picked a side. He planned to do whatever it took to keep Jaskier safe, even if that meant losing his own life in the process. He couldn't lose Jaskier. The world couldn't lose him either. Too many shining lights had already been put out. Keeping this one burning, ensuring that Jaskier kept living was necessary. Geralt grabbed his swords, tearing his attention away from the haunting brooch as he stepped over to his saddlebags. He dug through one of them until he found his whetstone. His swords weren't in dire need of sharpening, but the task would give him something to do and give him time to think. 

Though it would be easy for him to do the sharpening in his bedroom, Geralt didn't like the idea of being so far away from Jaskier. The chances of another mage showing up weighed heavy on his mind. He wanted to remain close by in case he needed to grab the bard and run, or stand and fight off a mage with Yennefer and Triss. He left the room with the supplies he needed, walking back down the stairs. Triss had taken a seat by the table, a new book opened in front of her, while Jaskier remained in the corner. However, Yennefer was hovering over him with a fresh bandage in one hand and clay jar in the other. Jaskier had removed his doublet and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his wounded arm. He was in the process of unwrapping the bandage while Yennefer watched. 

"Does it hurt?" Yennefer asked, poking at Jaskier's arm.

"Fuck! Of course it hurts when you fucking poke it! What's wrong with you?" Jaskier snapped. Yennefer replied by probing the wound again. Jaskier continued to curse her out. He made a big show about being unhappy with her, but his words didn't hold as much heat as before. In the same way, Yennefer's expression had softened and her eyes didn't hold any malice as she looked the wound over. 

"Some of this should help," the mage explained, setting the bandage aside to open the clay jar. Jaskier recoiled in horror. 

"That smells horrid," he whined. "I'm not letting you put that on me! I'll stink for days! It'll ruin my whole image!" 

"It’ll help prevent any infection," Yennefer promised, ignoring Jaskier's complaints as she scooped some out of the slave out. She carefully spread it across the stitches, being mindful to keep her touch gentle. Geralt expected Jaskier to complain again, yet the bard stayed quiet as Yennefer worked. Geralt walked around the table and took a seat in the chair closest to Jaskier. He laid out his supplies in order, then unsheathed his steel sword first.

"Too tight," Jaskier muttered.

"One second," Yennefer replied, her voice kind. It wasn't the first time Geralt had heard her use that tone of voice numerous times, but this was the first time she used it with Jaskier.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"We'll look at it again tomorrow. For now, you can keep this."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"I–"

"Seriously. Don't. Mention. It," Yennefer's tone became firm.

"Too bad. I plan to write a ballad about it anyway," Jaskier replied. "What rhymes best with purple eyes? Black skies? Morning sunrise? Oh! Fantasize. That's a good one." 

"Please stop." 

"Never." 

Geralt smiled down at his sword as Yennefer scoffed. Instead of casting a spell on Jaskier, or causing any other mischief, she stepped away and moved over to Triss. After she'd taken her seat, she started whispering to the other mage about the new book. They were looking for a safe place for Jaskier to hide. A cave. An abandoned castle. A place they could cloak for an extended period of time to keep him hidden. All of which would mean taking Jaskier away from people, away from the crowds he adored playing for, away from good food and better company. Instead of the golden cage of the Brotherhood, he'd be stuck in one made of dark, old stone. He'd never be happy with that.

Jaskier picked up his lute and strummed a few chords, humming to himself. Geralt listened to the bard work, biting back a chuckle when he heard Jaskier muttering about what would rhyme best with 'mage.' Despite the change of scenery, it was as if they were back in time. Back when Jaskier traveled with Geralt and created songs while they sat by the fire in the evening. Or when they walked along on the road. Or in a tavern. Honestly any place they found themselves Jaskier was coming up with a new song or melody. 

Geralt hadn't realized how much he missed it, how much he yearned to hear Jaskier playing again. This wasn't angry plucking like before. Nor was it mournful like the song in the forest. This was a new exciting ballad. One that Geralt was sure countless other people would one day sing back to him. Jaskier's memory would live on long after he was gone, which sadly could be sooner rather than later if they didn't figure something out. 

Geralt waited until Jaskier was deep in his work to sneak a look at the bard. The sunlight from the windows shone just above his head, giving Jaskier a glowing halo as he bowed his head towards his lute and tested a few different chords. Geralt stared, forcing his mind to memorize every last detail of the scene. From the way Jaskier kept bouncing his left foot to an unheard beat all the way up to his soft brown hair. Geralt wasn't sure how many tender moments they had left. He wanted to remember this one, wanted to commit it so well to memory that he'd be able to think of it later and feel this same warm feeling. Jaskier started lifting his chin. Geralt turned away before Jaskier's eyes could catch him staring. 

He ended up looking across the table towards Triss and Yennefer, finding both mages staring back at him with matching smiles. He scowled in confusion, but neither offered any explanation before they turned back to their books. Geralt huffed, returning to his swords. Every now and again, his eyes drifted to Jaskier. At this rate, his swords were never going to be sharp again. He finally wrestled his attention away from his....friend, and focused on the task at hand. Still, Jaskier's lute and muttering, combined with Triss' and Yennefer's quiet conversation washed over him. The warm, comforting feeling in his stomach grew. By the time Geralt finished polishing his silver sword, the light outside had started to fade. A plate of food appeared next to him on the table alongside a mug. Geralt reached for the drink first, pleased to find strong ale inside. His eyes moved to Jaskier, glad to see a similar plate sitting on the small table in front of the bard. He also noticed that Jaskier had a bottle in one hand. 

"What's that?" Geralt curiously asked. Jaskier quickly put the bottle behind him. His heart was beating unusually fast, and his face appeared flushed. It smelled like some kind of alcohol from where he was sitting, but he couldn't be sure with his own drink still in his hand. 

"Nothing," Jaskier avoided the question. Denial. Always his first go to when he didn't want to admit he'd done something wrong, or messed up somehow, or was doing something Geralt specifically told him not to do. 

"Hmmm?" 

"It's nothing. What do you have?" Deflection. One of Jaskier's worst tricks. 

"I don't need to hear your heartbeat to know you're lying." 

"It's just ale," Jaskier finally answered. "I'm thirsty. Can't I be thirsty without you asking me twenty questions? What do you have? You don't tell me I bet. You never answer my questions but you get pissed if I don't answer yours." This time, his heartbeat remained steady, but Geralt still had a feeling he was only getting half the truth. The bard protested a bit too much, and he was starting to rambling, still trying to deflect. He was hiding something, something he didn't want Geralt to know about. This time, Geralt let Jaskier keep his secrets.

"Eat," he ordered instead, nodding to the plate. Jaskier had always been too skinny for Geralt's liking, and his meal avoidance had been terrible so far. They stared at each other, Jaskier in defiance until finally he reached out for a piece of bread, biting into it. Geralt kept watching until at least half the piece was gone. 

"Find anything else?" he asked, turning to the mages. Triss stared at Jaskier, a pained look on her face while Yennefer shook her head and flipped through the next few pages of the book. 

"Nothing useful. Just more bullshit about prophecies written by old stupid men." 

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly. But we'll keep looking." 

"Thank you," Geralt said, nodding his head in respect. "For all your help." 

"You're welcome. I'll add it to the list of things you owe me." 

Geralt huffed. He wouldn't be surprised if Yennefer really did have such a list. 

_She was a black haired beauty with big violent eyes_

_And points all her own sitting way up high _

_Way up firm and high?"  
_

"Fuck that's not it." 

The music cut off suddenly. 

"Geralt," Jaskier slurred his name, "What rhymes best with tits?"

"Are you drunk?" Geralt wondered. Jaskier shook his head, but his eyes were bloodshot and his fingers were clumsy as they tried to find their rightful places on the lute's strings. His lute made a terrible sound when he strummed. Geralt whined at the harsh noise. Jaskier finally created his positioning, but his other hand couldn’t keep a steady beat anymore. 

"Not drunk. Just tipsy.”

That's what he alway said, even when he was face down on the floor because he tripped over his boots, or when he was throwing up in an alleyway. According to Jaskier, he never got drunk. Only tipsy. Complete bullshit. After so many years, Geralt knew the signs.

"Jaskier, how much of that bottle have you had?" Triss asked. 

"Ummmm. Not a lot. Maybe this much?" Jaskier answered, placing a finger towards the top of the bottle. "It's still mostly full. Mostly. I honestly thought I drank more, but I've barely put a dent in it!" 

"Tell me you didn't give him a refilling bottle," Triss hissed at Yennefer. 

"Okay. I didn't give him a refilling bottle," Yennefer answered, turning another page in the book.

"Yen! That's the last thing he needs!" 

"It's for the pain," she replied, still looking down at the book. Triss pulled it out of her hands to get Yennefer's attention. 

"The pain? Really? That's the best excuse you have." 

"He's not complaining, is he?" 

"Because you're letting him drown himself in booze without telling us." 

"He's an adult. He can take care of himself. He doesn't need us babysitting him all the damn time." 

"I can't believe–," Triss paused, shaking her head, "No actually, I can. Of course you'd do something like this." 

"What does that mean?" Yennefer growled. 

"You always have to pull everyone down to your level. You burned all your bridges, and now you'll get Jaskier to do the same!" Triss yelled. Suddenly, both women were out of their chairs, staring each other down with fire behind their eyes. 

"You have no fucking idea what I've been through." 

"Because you refuse to talk about it! You either storm off or throw a fit like now." 

"I'm not throwing a fit!" 

"You're deflecting, Yen! You always do! You never talk to me. You just push people away or hurt them until they leave you." 

"Shut up! This isn't about me!" 

"Right now it is! You can't just do shit like this without thinking of the consequences!" 

"Don't fight," Jaskier begged, setting his lute aside and standing up. He swayed backwards, off balance thanks to the alcohol. Geralt sighed, rubbing his forehead as magic sparked around the room. Part of him understood Yennefer's point that Jaskier didn't need them to watch over him, but he also agreed with Triss. Yennefer shouldn't have given Jaskier the bottle knowing that he was already upset about everything else. She was enabling bad behavior, something she was sadly prone to do despite Geralt's best efforts. He stood up and grabbed Jaskier before the bard could hurt himself. 

"Time for bed." 

"Wait–" Jaskier tried to protest, reaching out towards Triss and Yennefer. "They–"

"They'll work it out." 

"But–" 

"Come on," Geralt ordered, grabbing the plate of food and dragging Jaskier out of the room. 

"But what if they hurt each other?" 

"That's on them."

"We could help calm them down. I could sin–" 

"You're in no shape to help anyone," Geralt pointed out, guiding Jaskier up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

"I could try. I can be a distraction. I’m really good at being a distraction. Make a lot of noise. Wave my arms around. They can’t fight if they’re not looking at each other. We need to help them, Geralt. They’re friends! And friends shouldn’t fight."

“Friends fight all the time.”

“But it’s not good. What if one of them gets mad and leaves? We need to stop them.”

"What you need to do is eat something," Geralt insisted, ignoring how much Jaskier’s words reflected their own history together. 

"I'm not hungry." 

"I don't care. Put it in your mouth." 

"I'll put something in my mouth," Jaskier muttered, pouting as Geralt shoved him onto the bed and forced a small pie into his hands. 

"Eat." 

"You're so bossy! And not even the fun kind of bossy!" 

"The fun kind of bossy?" Geralt regretted the question as soon as he said it. 

"You know," Jaskier insisted, wiggling his body as he wink. At least that’s what Geralt thought he was trying to do with his eyes. He might have just been blinking slowly. It was hard to tell when he was like this. "Like in the bedroom?" 

Geralt raised an eyebrow instead of bothering to respond. Clearly, Jaskier took his silence as a sign that he needed to explain, in great detail, what he meant. At least the question took Jaskier’s mind off the mages still fighting downstairs. 

"When a woman tells you to get on your knees. Pulls your hair and tells you what she likes and how to do it," Jaskier explained. Geralt forced the pie into his mouth to shut him up. It only lasted a few seconds as Jaskier finally took a few bites and chewed, but as soon as his mouth was empty he was back at it. Geralt tuned most of it out.

"Or when a man pushes you against a wall and orders you to be quiet. Doesn't want to hear you make a sound until he says so because you could get caught," Jaskier rambled on and on, taking small bites of the pie here and there. When he finished the first, Geralt pushed another into his hands. He tried his best to ignore what Jaskier was saying. This wasn't a topic he wanted to hear about, but as long as Jaskier kept eating he could put up with it even if it made his heart burn with rage and jealousy. He shoved it aside. Focused on the task at hand. 

"It's exciting. That kind of bossy. I like it. Though I suppose other people might not. You should try it. It’d probably work better than your usual “Do what I say or I’ll glare at you until you listen,” type of bossiness. You'd be great at it too. Really great. You have the voice for it. The best voice. And it'd be even more sexy because you're lovely," he declared after the second and third pie were gone. Geralt decided it was best to make his exit now. Jaskier was drunk. He didn't know what he was saying. He pushed a fourth pie into his hands. 

"Eat. Then sleep," he ordered before stepping away. Jaskier took the pie, staring at it for a moment before taking a slow bite. 

"Always lovely," the bard repeated softly to himself before he noticed Geralt had moved away. On his feet in seconds, Jaskier nearly face planted in his haste to get over to Geralt, dropping the pie in the process. He would have fallen had it not been for Geralt's arm reaching out to steady him.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier asked, grabbing onto Geralt's sleeve tightly. He looked desperate and smelled even worse. Fear mixed with ale suddenly clouded his sweet scent. Geralt couldn't stand it, and knew he should try to erase Jaskier’s fear, but he also needed his own space. Needed to clear his head. Jaskier, like always, was getting underneath his skin. 

"Back downstairs," he answered. 

"Don't leave. Was it something I said? I can be quiet.”

"No, you can't."

"I can try," Jaskier bargained. "I will try. I’ll sit and eat and you won’t hear another word. Whatever makes you happy.” 

Why was he so desperate for Geralt to stay? Was he worried someone would come when he was alone? Is that why he smelled so scared? 

"You'll be fine," Geralt assured him, hoping to calm some of Jaskier's misplaced fears. "I won't be that far away and Yennefer cloaked the manor. We'll know if anyone shows up." 

"I know. I know, just stay here with me. We can talk about something else. Don't leave." 

"I'm not leaving, Jaskier. I'll be–" 

He's cut off by Jaskier's lips pressing against his. 

_ Yes! _

A feral part of him growled. Finally, after so long. He could take what he wanted. Sink into the light that was Jaskier. He almost deepened the kiss. Almost pulled Jaskier closer against him. Almost. But the stale smell of alcohol overtook his senses. It crashed into him like a Sylvan ramming into his chest. 

God damn it, Jaskier. 

Of all the moments, he just had to choose this one. Geralt wanted to lean towards him, throw aside his restraints and take what he wanted, but he couldn’t. Jaskier wasn’t in the right mindset. The fucking irony wasn’t lost on Geralt. The bard trying to make a move at the worst fucking moment. Destiny was laughing at them for sure. Geralt couldn’t tell if this was real, if this was really what Jaskier wanted, or if this was just the bard seeking comfort from another warm body. Geralt couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be another one of Jaskier’s conquests. He wanted more. He knew he wanted so much more. 

He shoved Jaskier back, breaking the kiss. His lips mourned the loss. His chest ached. All he really wanted was to keep kissing Jaskier until the world around them ended, but he couldn’t. Not when Jaskier was drunk. Not when Geralt couldn’t be one hundred percent sure Jaskier wouldn’t regret it in the morning. He fisted his hands, refusing to reach out towards Jaskier. If he did, he’d never let go. Hurt flashed across Jaskier’s face, twisting Geralt’s stomach. 

"Ger–" Jaskier tried to protest. 

"Finish the plate and go to bed,” Geralt ordered. He needed to get out before he made a mistake. 

"Geralt, please–" 

"You're drunk." 

"Let me ex–" 

"Finish. Your. Plate. Go. To. Bed," Geralt repeated the order, his voice like iron. Jaskier went quiet, letting out a pained whimper when Geralt yanked his sleeve free and stomped away. Thankfully, Jaskier didn't try to chase after him. Geralt wasn't sure he'd be able to fight himself a second time if Jaskier got too close again. The bard always had the ability to talk Geralt into crazy situations. This could not be one of them. Jaskier would never forgive him for it. 

"Geralt," Jaskier called softly, pleading. “Please.” Geralt forced his feet to keep going. Jaskier was drunk. Drunk and confused and emotional. Scared. It was only natural that he'd seek company in those closest to him. Hell, he'd probably try to kiss Triss or even Yennefer if they got close enough to him. Yennefer never should have given him that bottomless bottle. He was too drunk. Too out of it. 

Geralt knew better then to want more, yet Jaskier made him ache for it. With Yennefer, Geralt had never imagined life being any different. He’d keep being a Witcher. She’d do whatever it was that she did when she went away. Things wouldn’t change. But Jaskier painted a different scene, a different world. One that Geralt had only ever dreamed about when he was young and foolish. But how could he, a witcher, a creature made only to fight monsters, deserve someone like Jaskier? Someone who was light and goodness and shining optimism? He didn’t. That was the short answer. He didn’t deserve Jaskier, nor the life he dreamed about. Not after everything. But that didn’t stop him from wanting. He used to be better at ignoring it. Yet Jaskier had worn him down over the years. Destroyed his defenses without even knowing it. 

Geralt tried not to stomp down the stairs as he pushed his feelings deep inside. He didn't want to pick a fight with Yennefer, though maybe it would help get some of the tension out of his shoulders. However, it wasn't Yennefer he found downstairs in the room. Instead, Triss was alone, sitting in a chair by the fire. She stared at the flames, only glancing at Geralt for a moment. The room smelled like rotting twigs and old mud thanks to the lone mage.

“Where’s Yennefer?” he asked. 

"Gone," she muttered.

"Gone? Where?"

"I don't know. She never tells me anything."

Bitterness. That's what Triss smelled like. Bitter and sad and angry. Turning her scent to rot. Geralt sighed. Seemed like no one in this manor was happy tonight.

"What happened?" Geralt wondered, collecting his swords as he waited for Triss to answer. He walked over to stand by the fire, leaning against the wall as he kept waiting. He kept his eyes on the door just in case Jaskier tried to make his way downstairs.

"We both said things we didn't mean," Triss confessed. "At least, I hope she didn't mean them."

"She didn't." 

"I'm not so sure. I just wish....Jaskier didn't need that bottle." 

"She had good intentions."

"I want to believe that," she muttered, "I do. But sometimes she can be so chaotic. So out of control. And I..." She stopped suddenly, burying her head in her hands.

"You're more than friends," Geralt commented. Triss laughed humorlessly.

"I wish that was true, but no. We're barely friends sometimes. Every time I think we are. Every time I reach out, she shoves me away harder. I keep hoping, praying that she'll realize I'm never going to leave her. That no matter what she does, I'll care about her and stay by her side, but she makes it so fucking hard," Triss explained. Her voice turned teary as her emotions swelled. Geralt glanced at Triss, wishing he knew what to say. He couldn't read Yennefer's mind, he didn't know how she felt about the mage, but he'd seen the looks they'd been sharing. He'd noticed how protective Yennefer was over Triss, how Yennefer listened to her more than anyone else. There was something there. Something that went beyond friendship. He hoped. Geralt heard footsteps in the hall. Footsteps that hadn't come from upstairs. They were quiet. Barely there, but the creaking of the floor under their weight tipped him off.

"You want more," he stated. 

"I do," Triss confessed. "I shouldn't, but I do."

"Have you told her?" 

The silence that followed was enough to answer the question.

"Why not?" 

"Because I'm scared." 

"Scared?" 

"I don't want....I can't lose her. She's been my friend for so many years, Geralt. Decades. I know I can be too hopeful. Too kind and naive. I want to believe the world is still a good place, but sometimes I'm reminded how cruel it can be. Yennefer has always been there when that happens. I try to be there for her. I do. I want to be, but she doesn't let me. I...If I tell her, I would lose her as a friend. I can't take that risk." 

"I understand," Geralt said. offering Triss a firm nod when she looked at him in disbelief. "But I also think you should take you own fucking advice." 

"What?" 

"You told me if I didn't talk to Jaskier, then it'd be too late. You should talk to Yennefer." 

"I told you. I can't." 

"You can. She cares about you, Triss. You know she does." 

"I don't. Not for sure. I want to believe it so badly that maybe I've built it all up in my head." 

"You haven't. She needs you and you need her," Geralt insisted, reaching down to place a hand on her shoulder. He put his weight into it, grounding Triss to the moment. "Talk to her." 

"I'll...I'll think about it. But I won't make any promises," she whispered. Her scent had gotten lighter, some of her bitterness chased away, but it still wasn't her normal smell. Too many emotions still plagued her thoughts. 

"Good enough. I tried," he muttered with a shrug, pulling his hand away and grabbing his swords. He put them on his back as he walked towards the door. 

"Thank you, Geralt," Triss said softly. Geralt glanced over his shoulder at her. 

"Don't mention it," he replied. "I’ll be upstairs meditating. If you need me."

"Is Jaskier alright?"

"He will be. Once he's gotten some rest." 

"Him and I aren't that different," she muttered, turning back towards the flames in the fireplace. Geralt didn't ask her to explain. He didn't want to know because part of him already understood what she meant, but he wasn't ready to face it yet. Wasn't ready to admit some things either. 

"Good night, Triss." 

"Good night." 

He walked towards the door, unsurprised to see Yennefer standing in the hallway. Their eyes met for a moment. Geralt raised an eyebrow. Yennefer stared him down, willing him to look away first, but Geralt wasn't going to play this game. Finally, Yennefer's eyes shifted over his shoulder. 

"Hmm." 

"Shut up." 

"Alright," he agreed. "Good night, Yen." 

"Night." 

He started up the stairs. 

"Jaskier," Yennefer's voice made him pause. "Is he....is he really alright?" 

"He was drunk off his ass the last time I saw him, but he should be sleeping by now. He'll be back to his normal, annoying self in the morning." 

"I didn't mean to hurt him." 

"I know you didn't." 

"It's not fair. This isn't fair." 

"It never is."

"Take care of him, Geralt," she ordered. He almost smiled at the command, knowing that Yennefer was quite serious about it. 

"I will." 

"Good."

"And you should take care of Triss." 

He climbed the stairs before Yennefer could think of a clever insult. He shouldn't meddle. He didn't want to be like them, getting involved in other people's business and trying to make things happen, but Triss and Yennefer deserved better. They deserved to be happy, to have someone who cared about them. Gods knew that Yennefer needed that, and Triss was nearly on her knees begging for Yennefer to let her in. Hopefully, they could figure it out themselves. Only time would tell, and they all had too much of it. Geralt glanced at Jaskier's door, listening for movement. 

Thankfully, all he heard were the bards' slow, soft breaths. Not quite asleep yet, but nearly there. Jaskier needed to rest. Hopefully, if Geralt was lucky for once, Jaskier wouldn't remember what happened while he was drunk. They wouldn't have to have _that_ conversation. Geralt knew he wouldn't be able to lie, but it'd only hurt Jaskier more in the long run. That's the only thing Geralt was good at. Hurting people. Ruining things. As much as he wanted more, as much as he yearned for what Jaskier offered, he couldn't take it. Jaskier was a bright, shining light in the fucked up dark world. He deserved better, much better, than Geralt. Geralt knew he shouldn't be making the choice for Jaskier, shouldn't be deciding for him, but he couldn't go through with the alternative. 

He pushed open his bedroom door, leaving it open behind him as he walked over to his bags. He wanted to keep an eye on Jaskier's door just in case. He returned his sharpening supplies to his bag, taking a moment to organize everything the way he liked before setting it all aside. He unlaced and pulled off his boots, setting them one by one out of the way. He debated if he needed to remove anything else before deciding to stay clothed. Walking over to the bed, he rested his swords against the wall like the night before and slipped his dagger underneath a pillow. 

Once everything was in place, Geralt climbed onto the bed, staying above the blankets this time. He knelt in the middle of the mattress, placing his palms flat on his legs as he got into the familiar position. He looked across the room at Jaskier's closed door, then slowly closed his eyes. He could've easily meditated on the ground, but that'd be a waste of the bed Yennefer had so kindly provided. He could've also meditation lying flat on his back, but he felt kneeling would keep him more alert. He needed to be ready in case any other mages decided to pay a visit during the night. He focused on his breathing, matching it to Jaskier's across the hallway. The bard's heartbeat served as a steady rhythm. It didn't take long for his thoughts to turn back to the situation at hand. 

Time was already working against them. It wouldn't take long before the Brotherhood or Listeners caught wind of the bard traveling with him. They needed a plan, needed to do something instead of sitting around waiting for their enemies to arrive, but Geralt didn't have a single clue about what they could do or where they could go. He was determined to figure something out. He had to do something. He couldn't lose Jaskier. Not after everything. Briefly, he thought about asking Borch for help. The Dragon Mountains in the North were unsettled, and there were countless caves and tunnels they could hide out in; however, Geralt quickly scrapped that idea. He didn't want to bring mages to the dragon's doorstep. Not when he had a youngling to care for.

Kaer Morhen could make for a good hideout, though Geralt knew Vesemir would not be pleased if he brought Jaskier there for safe keeping. Facing Vesemir wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Geralt could probably convince him to let the bard stay for an extended amount of time even though winter was a few months away. Getting Jaskier to stay inside an abandoned keep with no one but witchers for company would be a harder battle to win. Was it possible to find a solution that both kept Jaskier safe while also keeping him happy, or would they have to sacrifice Jaskier’s happiness to keep him alive? Deep down, Geralt already knew the answer. There were only so many places for Jaskier to hide, but the list could be expanded if he gave up being a bard. He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d be alive. It’d be worth it, though Gerlat knew Jaskier wouldn’t see it the same way. He wasn’t looking forward to the countless arguments sure to take place over the matter. 

A soft gasp broke Geralt out of his thoughts. Jaskier's heartbeat veered away from its slow and steady pace, becoming wild and sporadic as his breathing picked up. Geralt was out of bed and across the hall with a sword in one hand before his mind caught up with his body. His instincts had taken over, ordering him to seek out the threat and get rid of it. Protect Jaskier at all costs. He opened Jaskier's door, ready to face whatever was on the other side, but the room was empty except for Jaskier tangled up in the blankets on the bed. Another gasp, this one more painful than the last, pushed Geralt to close the door and move further into the room. Jaskier's scent had turned sour with fear so thick it burned Geralt's nose. He slowly walked over to the bed, stepping over Jaskier’s discarded boots. He noticed Jaskier still had his eyes closed, but his mouth was twisted into a deep frown and he tossed his head back and forth.

Nightmares.

For all their months of traveling together, Jaskier had never had one before. Or Geralt had never noticed before. The bard let out a broken whimper, his arms fighting against the blankets as he struggled with the demons in his mind. Geralt couldn't leave him to suffer, not when Jaskier sounded so broken and scared. He leaned his sword against the wall, then took a seat on the bed to ground himself. How should he do this? He didn't want to frighten Jaskier even more. He'd have to be careful. He slowly reached over and shook Jaskier's shoulder.

"Jaskier," he called softly in between shakes. "Jaskier wake up. It's not real. It's not–"

Jaskier's eyes flew open, a scream still trapped in his throat as he shot up. Geralt moved out of the way just in time to avoid a collision. Jaskier struggled against the blankets wildly, his eyes frantic and terrified. Geralt quickly helped untangle him from their grip, watching as Jaskier's hands flew to his neck. He felt up and down his throat, his eyes still wide and confused. Geralt reached out towards him, then paused, unsure if contact would help the situation or make it worse.

"You're okay," Geralt assured him, keeping his voice quiet. "It was just a dream. It's not real." Jaskier still looked around the room, searching for the source of his terror. Geralt pulled his hands back, watching silently as Jaskier's heart slowly eased back to a normal pace. The fear didn't leave, clinging to Jaskier as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He'd taken off his doublet, but kept his trousers. His white chemise was unbuttoned, allowing it to slip off his shoulder. He looked younger suddenly. Innocent and small.

"Are you alright?" Geralt softly asked.Jaskier suddenly turned his face away, leaning his cheek on his knees as his shoulders tensed. 

"You can leave," he said, his tone lacking any emotion.

"Jaskier–"

"I said leave. You always bitch about how I don't listen to you, but you don’t listen either," Jaskier complained, speaking to the wall instead of looking at Geralt. "Everything goes in one ear and out the other. You never pay any attention to what I'm saying." 

"That's not..." his protest died on his tongue. The bard wasn't _completely_ wrong. There were quite a few times when Geralt had tuned him out, missed what Jaskier had been saying, ignored his stories in favor of other things, but this wasn't one of those times. He wanted to listen, wanted to help. 

"Just go away, Geralt. We both know you'd rather be somewhere else. I already have enough guilt to deal with. Go back to meditating or whatever you were doing." 

Guilt? What was he guilty about? 

Geralt couldn’t leave until he got the answer. He wouldn’t. Not until Jaskier’s smell returned to normal. He'd never seen the bard look so torn apart. Not even on the mountain. He needed to know what was going on in Jaskier’s head. Sadly, he wasn’t a mind reader like Yennefer. He couldn’t just peek inside Jaskier’s mind to understand his thoughts. He wished he could. Jaskier’s scent gave him some clues, but didn’t provide any reasoning. 

"What was it about?" He asked, trying his best to keep his tone light. Make it sound like a request, not a demand. 

"What?" 

"Your nightmare. What was it about?" 

"Doesn't matter."

"It does."

"It doesn't." 

“I want to know.”

“I don’t want to tell you.” 

"Jaskier," Geralt hardened his tone to get his attention, then softened it when Jaskier finally met his eyes. "Please. What was it about?" 

Jaskier stared at him, his eyes searching for something on Geralt's face. Some of his anger eased, though not all of it. He let out a loud sigh, unfolding his knees. He fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, pulling at his shirt and shrugging. He looked unsure, smelling even more fearful as the seconds ticked by.

"The djinn," he quietly confessed, the guilt in his eyes growing. Geralt's heart climbed into his throat. Fuck the djinn. Another mistake Geralt would never outrun. He'd never meant for Jaskier to get hurt. He didn't know the djinn had attached itself to him instead of Jaskier, and then the words had left his mouth. His carelessness got Jaskier hurt. Almost killed him. Geralt would never forgive himself. Never. 

"They're usually about the djinn. I hear this terrible voice talking about how a wish must be fulfilled and then I can't breathe. Can't call for help. I'm choking on blood. Alone. I know it's childish. It's over. It's been years, but..." 

"It's not childish," Geralt argued once Jaskier had trailed off. Jaskier shrugged, closing in on himself again. 

“It’s fine. It’s over now and I’m fine.” 

His heart skipped. 

"You're not." 

"I will be." 

"Talk to me," Geralt softly requested. Jaskier let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around himself.

"There's nothing for me to say." 

"Since when do you run out of things to talk about?"

“Since I realized I ruin everything by talking too much.” 

“You don’t–” 

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Jaskier begged. 

“Do what?” Geralt wondered in confusion, scowling at the words. 

“Lie to make me feel better. We both know it’s true. I ruin everything. All I do is cause trouble for people. I never shut up. I’m annoying. I never leave well enough alone.”

“I never meant that,” Geralt reminded him. He knew he shouldn’t have allowed Jaskier to say he was forgiven. He knew his words cut deep, maybe even deeper than Jaskier realized. He’d meant what he said on the balcony. None of it was Jaskier’s fault. He never truly thought that. He’d just been angry and let his emotions control him, and now it was all coming back to bite him in the ass. Jaskier didn’t believe him. Couldn’t see how badly Geralt regretted those words. 

“I’m sorry that I said any of that–” 

“I know you are, but you were right.” 

“Jaskier–”

"It's all my fault. You wouldn't have been at Pavetta's betrothal party if it wasn't for me. I dragged you there. You only got involved because of me. Because I was too scared to go alone. And I fought with you over the djinn's jar. I should have walked away. I should have left you alone when you told me to go, but I didn’t. And it was my fault you didn’t realize the djinn was tied to you. You ended up wasting a wish because I wouldn’t shut up. Because I never fucking listen." 

“That’s not–” 

“And now this!” Jaskier didn’t let Geralt get a word in, too caught up in his own guilt as he spiralled. “This stupid fucking prophecy bullshit! This is my fault too! I should have stayed home like I was supposed to. I never should have followed you. You never wanted me too but I forced myself upon you. Like a fucking plague! That’s what I am! I’m a plague on your life. I ruined your life. I ruined everything. No wonder you hate me and don't want me around! I'm just bad luck for everyone!"

“I never said that,” Geralt protested. “I never said you were bad luck. And I never said I hated you. I would ne–” 

“You didn’t have to,” Jaskier cut him off again, his words biting and harsh. They tore through Geralt deeper than any blade. This was not how any of this was supposed to go, but Geralt didn’t know what to do or what to say. Jaskier’s smell twisted, turning into a mixture of pain and anger. Geralt hated it, yet he had no idea how to repair the damage he caused. 

“I can see it in your eyes.” 

“You’re wrong,” he insisted. Jaskier shook his head, not convinced. 

“I’m not.” 

“Listen to me–” 

“No. You said your piece. You’ve gotten to talk.”

“When?”

“On the balcony. I thought....” he trailed off, his bottom lip trembling as he turned away. 

“I was wrong about what you meant. We don’t see things the same way and I didn’t realize until I fucked everything up.” 

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asked, ready to beg Jaskier to explain. The bard was beating around the bush, sidestepping the issue and Geralt couldn’t wrap his mind around everything without better clues. He wasn’t good with all this. With words and reading between the lines and trying to find the meaning behind everything. He needed things to be said plainly. Needed Jaskier to just be honest and spell it out. He refused to make assumptions. Refused to find his own conclusions. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Jaskier snapped. “You know. Don’t make me say it. You made it very clear earlier.” 

“I don’–The kiss.” Realization dawned on him as Jaskier shrank away. The final clue slipping into place. 

“You were drunk,” he explained. 

“And that matters?”

“Very much so! You were drunk and upset. I didn’t know if you meant it, or if you were just trying to find comfort.” 

“What about all the times before that?” 

“What times?” 

“Are you really that dense? I’ve been hinting at it for years!”

“Hinting at what Jaskier? I can’t read your mind,” Geralt hissed, growing tired. 

"I love you," Jaskier suddenly declared. His heartbeat steady and firm as he stared at Geralt. His blue eyes shined in the moonlight, brighter than ever before. They pierced Geralt’s very soul, holding too many emotions for him to name. His mouth fell open in shock, the words echoing in his mind like a battlecry. 

"I could wax poetry about how it happened. List all the reasons why. There are so many reasons. I could even sing about what it feels like to love you. Sometimes it feels so amazing and other times it's the most painful thing in my life. I could write a thousand ballads about it. I'm sure of it, but...” Jaskier paused, pulling his keens back up towards his body protectively, “but that wouldn't change anything and I'm tired. I just....I've loved you for so long and I've always wanted to tell you. I was scared before, worried about how you'd react, but this might be the last chance I get. I have to take it." 

Tears gathered in Jaskier's eyes as he talked, threatening to spill at any moment. He turned his face away again as his shoulders climbed towards his ears. He tried his best not to make a sound, but Geralt heard the small hiccup. The choked sob that Jaskier tried to keep inside. Part of him always knew in a way, aware of how Jaskier had hinted at it, but Geralt had always feared he was reading into things wrong. Feared that he was projecting what he wanted onto Jaskier. The bard had never said it. Never made it clear. He had flirted and made eyes, but he did that to other people too sometimes. Geralt hadn’t wanted to bring it up, worried he was wrong. Gods how many missed opportunities? How many times had Jaskier been hoping Geralt would say something? Geralt really fucked up. After living for so many years, fighting so many battles, meeting countless people, Geralt still couldn’t handle a conversation. He was fucking useless at this shit. No wonder Jaskier was fed up with him. He was hopeless. 

"Why are you so upset?" he asked. Why did telling Geralt the truth cause him such pain? 

"Because I'm going to lose you," Jaskier answered, his words echoing Triss’. "And I'm not ready. I never am. I thought I was this time. I thought I could be strong and put on a brave face, but I can't. I just can't. It hurts so much and it's not fair." 

"Jaskier, you're not going t–" 

"Don't. Don't lie to me," he begged. "I thought....what you said on the balcony....I almost....but I was wrong. I ruined everything again. I always do. No matter how hard I try."

“I meant everything I said on the balcony.” 

“Not the way I thought you did.” 

“Jaskier, I can’t read your mind! You have to tell me what you think I meant. I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Help me understand.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does.” 

“It–” 

“Julian.” 

That got his attention. 

“You kno–” 

“Of course I know your real name. I pay attention. Sometimes. Most times. Right now you have my full attention, Jaskier.” He went back to using the name Jaskier had provided, unsure if the other name held bad memories. “Please. I’m trying to understand. I am. But you need to explain.” 

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, biting at his bottom lip before shaking his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“You’ll get mad.” 

“I won’t.”

“I thought you felt the same!” he exclaimed. “I thought it was a confession.” 

“It was,” Geralt replied. 

“It wasn’t.” 

“It was.” 

“It wa–”

“Enough,” Geralt snapped. “We could do this all night, but won’t get us anywhere. You’re not listening to me.” 

“Piss off.” 

Geralt growled, growing frustrated with the whole situation. If Jaskier wasn’t going to listen to his words, then Geralt was going to show him what he meant. He reached out and grabbed Jaskier by his chemise, pulling him into a rough kiss. He couldn’t say it was much better than the drunken one earlier. Jaskier didn’t smell like ale, but his dark scent grew far worse. He placed a hand on Geralt’s chest, pushing him away in order to break the kiss. 

“Don’–That’s not fair. You–”

“I shouldn’t want you,” Geralt confessed, cutting off his protests as he kept a firm hold on Jaskier’s shirt to prevent him from running away. “But I do. I want you so fucking much that it scares me. You...you scare me.” 

“What?” Jaskier gasped, sounding almost offended by the idea. “I scare you? You fight monsters for a living! You’re the Great White Wolf. You’re seriously trying to tell me that I scare you?”

"Yes," Geralt answered, unashamed. Jaskier's eyes widened in shock and awe. "Because losing you would be the worst thing in the world. And every day I'm scared that it could be your last and I can’t, I don’t know how to handle that. I’m not supposed to have connections. I’m not supposed to care, but I don’t...I can’t help myself with you. I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard to push it aside, to focus on other people, other things, but then I put my fucking foot in my mouth on the mountain and you left.”

“You didn't force me to go to Pavetta's party. You asked for my help and I agreed. You didn't make me save Duny. That was my choice. My own careless actions lead to the Child of Surprise. Not yours. Same with the djinn. I choose to say those words, words that hurt you. You didn't hold me down and force them out of my throat. And I'm here now because....because...." He trailed off, the words getting caught now as his heart panicked. Jaskier had gone quiet, too quiet. His scent was sweeter, but not normal yet. Maybe he wasn’t explaining it well enough. He shut his eyes for a moment, wishing he knew what to do, what to say, how to fix all of this. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier muttered. Fingers brushed against his cheek. He leaned into the touch. 

“I care about you,” Geralt whispered. “I will never forgive myself for making you think otherwise. I didn’t get the hint, Jaskier. No, that’s a lie. I did, but I didn’t think you wanted more than just a fling. I didn’t think that someone like you, someone as beautiful and full of light and happiness and flowers would really want someone like me. So I chose to ignore it. I told myself not to get drawn in. I’m sorry. We could have had this conversation years ago if I wasn’t such an–” 

“Enough,” Jaskier ordered, reaching out to pull Geralt in for another, gentler, kiss. Geralt melted into it, letting Jaskier guide their lips. His heart throbbed, overcome with joy. His mind went silent, focused only on the feeling of Jaskier’s mouth against his, on the little noises the bard made as Geralt deepened the kiss. The rest of the world could end for all Geralt care. As long as he got to keep kissing Jaskier. 

“You are the most frustrating person I know,” Jaskier declared when he pulled away to breath. 

“You’re more deserving of that title,” Geralt replied, relief flooding his body when Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For everything. For pushing you away. For making you think that I didn’t care about you. I’m not good at this, but that’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder. I will try harder if you....” he paused, pressing his lips together nervously. 

“If I?” Jaskier prompted. 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting. What you want.” 

“Just you.” 

“But–” 

“Don’t overthink it,” Jaskier suggested, running a hand through Geralt’s hair. “I just want you to be right here. With me.”

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

“What about...” he glanced at the door, trying his very best to hide his nervousness. 

“Yennefer?” 

Jaskier nodded once.

“Yennefer is amazing and intelligent and beautiful,” Geralt admitted, noticing how Jaskier’s eyes started to narrow. He kissed the bard’s cheek, reaching to grab hold of his hand. “And I do care about her, but it’s different then how I care about you. Yennefer and I will always be friends, I hope, but we don’t fit together. We have too many jagged pieces between us. All we did was cut into each other. It didn’t help either of us. She deserves someone who fits her better. Someone who can help her.”

“You deserve that too,” Jaskier claimed. 

“Are you offering?” Geralt wondered, smiling as he raised an eyebrow and gave Jaskier a pointed look. 

“Maybe I am.” 

“I meant what I said, Jaskier. I want to be the man from your songs. The hero. A better person.” 

“You already are a better person than most,” Jaskier replied. Geralt opened his mouth, but Jaskier quickly pressed his fingers against his lips to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve watched you for seven years, Geralt. I’ve seen how you help people. How you go out of your way to be kind even when people aren’t kind to you. They tried to claim you’re the monster, but you’re not. You’re a good person already. A little rough, but that’s reasonable after the world has been so unkind to you.” 

“Don’t go around telling everyone that.” 

“Too late. I think I’ve written quite a few ballads about the White Wolf helping people and being a big softie.” 

“Unfortunately, you have.” 

“And I’m sure I’ll write many more.”

“And I’ll enjoy every one,” Geralt said, enjoying the way Jaskier ducked his head to hide his smile. 

“You’re a sap,” Jaskier declared. The fear from earlier still lingered in some spots, but for the most part Jaskier smelled sweet and happy. Calmer than before. Geralt tangled his fingers with Jaskier, squeezing his hand tentatively. 

“I’m going to kiss you again.” 

“Thanks for the warning.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Geralt’s chuckle was cut short by Jaskier’s lips against his again. He still let Jaskier lead, let him set the pace and followed his example, but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His free hand grabbed the back of Jaskier’s head, holding him there as one kiss turned into three then five. After that Geralt lost count. Jaskier paused, pulling away to press his forehead against Geralt’s instead. He shut his eyes. Geralt stared at him, watching the way his chest moved as he breathed slowly. 

“Don’t leave,” Jaskier whispered, his eyes opening to meet Geralt’s as he tangled his hand in Geralt’s shirt. Geralt let go of the back of his head and placed his hand over Jaskier’s. 

“I won’t,” he promised. A slow, sweet smile started to grow on Jaskier’s face. Geralt couldn’t help but taste it, kissing Jaskier’s lips and getting lost in Jaskier’s scent and presence. The bard sighed into the kiss, melting against Geralt. Warmth spread through every inch of Geralt’s body at the soft noise. He reached up and brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s cheek when the kiss ended, staring at him openly. Jaskier looked back with the same sweet smile as before. He looked back and he saw Geralt. Not a Witcher. Not the Butcher. Not even the White Wolf. Geralt. 

“Don’t leave either,” he said. Jaskier grabbed the hand off his face and kissed each of Geralt’s knuckles. The kisses as soft as a butterfly. 

“Never,” Jaskier assured him. He moved away, pulling back the blankets and patting the mattress next to him. 

“Get in.” 

“Now who’s bossy?” Geralt asked as he obeyed. He climbed into the bed, laying down on his back with a hand behind his head. 

“I’m not bossy,” Jsakier argued as he arranged the blankets over both of them and fluffed the pillows behind him. “I simply know best.” 

Geralt snorted. 

“I do!” 

“I didn’t disagree.” 

“You did.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You don’t have to. I know what all your grunts and snorts mean, Geralt,” Jaskier insisted, still messing with the pillows. Fidgeting with the blankets. Looking everywhere else besides Geralt. The smell of nerves growing with each passing moment. 

“Because you know best,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier paused, biting his lip shyly at the statement, but he still didn’t meet Geralt’s eyes. 

“Come here,” Geralt ordered, reaching out to grab him gently. Jaskier didn’t resist, allowing Geralt to drag him over and arrange him with his head resting on Geralt’s chest. Geralt left an arm wrapped around Jaskier’s body while the other went for Jaskier’s hair. He ran his fingers over the brown strands, finding that he was right about his assumption. It was soft to the touch, and it smelled so much like Jaskier. Like....safety. Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s shirt again, twisting it in his hand as he slotted his body perfectly against Geralt’s. Geralt’s hand kept moving through Jaskier’s hair, watching as the bard’s body melted with each pass. Jaskier’s eyes slowly closed, his breathing slowing down at the same time as the nerves died away. 

“I...Are things going to be alright?” Jaskier asked, on the edge of sleep. “Are we going to be okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Geralt answered without any hesitation. He wasn’t going to lie. Not to Jaskier. “But I’m going to protect you. I’m going to keep you safe no matter what.”

“I love you,” Jaskier muttered, the words running together. The same words got caught in Geralt’s throat, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind as he let out a pleased sigh and snuggled even closer to Geralt. Geralt kept petting his hair as he stared up at the ceiling. The moon shone through the windows, making it easy for Geralt to see every detail of Jaskier’s sleeping face. 

Please. If there was anyone up there. Anyone watching. Anyone listening. Please don’t take this away from him. Take Geralt. Take the world. But don’t take Jaskier. Don’t take his home away from him. Not again. He prayed to the invisible forces of the universe, forces he wasn't quite sure he believed in, again and again. Hoping his words would make a difference in Jaskier’s future. And his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you want to talk to me about the story, or just about The Witcher in general, you can find me [@holdthesewords](https://holdthesewords.tumblr.com/)
> 
> BIG thanks to [Abagel ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abagel/pseuds/Abagel) for helping me get through this chapter and listening to me change my mind over and over again about the plot. Without them, I'd be a hopeless mess. 
> 
> Kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments are always adored!
> 
> 10/19/2020 Update:   
I swear did not forget about this fic! It's been haunting me at night, but the words haven't been working with me lately. I'm still chipping away at it. Slowly but surely. My goal is to add a chapter by the end of this year, so stay hopeful! Thank you all for being so patient with me!


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